


The Fifth Blight Book III: A Warden's Oath

by Nardhwen



Series: The Fifth Blight [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 102,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nardhwen/pseuds/Nardhwen
Summary: The archdemon and its army of darkspawn have come for what's left of Ferelden, while Everil and Alistair set out to unify their fellow men before it's too late. And as the Grey Wardens battle through the intrigues of politics and the conflicts of war, one question arises: How much is one willing to sacrifice when the fate of an entire nation rests upon one's shoulders? R&R pls!
Relationships: Alistair/Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: The Fifth Blight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777012
Kudos: 13





	1. To Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, everyone! Those of you who haven't read The Fifth Blight Book I: The Grey Wardens and The Fifth Blight Book II: Allies of the Grey, can find them in my profile. This fic is a continuation of them.

⚜

  
  
  
  


_C_ _hurning, black clouds flashed with_ the crack of crimson lightning, followed by the unearthly rumble of thunder. They crawled over the hills and the trees, shrouding the land in ominous darkness. Below the storm, an army of monsters stalked through the brush, hunting for their next prey while draining all life from the ground beneath their feet. They broke through the treeline, emerging into the Fereldan plains and setting their sights on the first town visible on the horizon.

A great roar joined the storm as massive wings flapped overhead. The shadow of a beast passed over the brush and the creatures below, imposing its presence upon them all. It set its blood-red glare on the human settlement, snarling viciously in both hatred and anticipation. It roared again, louder, sharper. A sign to the army it commanded. 

And the darkspawn charged. Hurlocks, genlocks, and ogres trampled over the grass and the weeds. Over the grain and the crops. Killing everything they touched as they trailed after their master.

“The darkspawn are coming!” a guard sounded the alarm from one of the watchtowers surrounding the modest town. 

Terrified screams turned into a choir of panic as women and children fled to shelter deeper in, heading for the chantry while all the men took arms and went to the gates. The darkspawn slammed against the doors as the soldiers tried to keep them out, while in the battlements above, archers rained arrows upon them. An ogre roared, stomping its way through its brethren and to the first gate as the archers desperately tried to bring it down. 

Arrows stuck to its chest as it walked, but the beast ignored them and aimed its horns at the doors. It charged, ramming open the gates and sending the men who had been trying to keep them closed hurtling back. The other darkspawn ran in after it, weapons clashing with those of the town's guard. The ogre kept stomping in, reaching down and seizing one of them before bringing his head into its mouth. A sickening crunch was heard over the battlecries before it dropped the corpse, blood gushing from where its head had once been. 

The dragon released another earth-shattering cry as it flew in and circled the town, watching as its horde battled below. A hurlock slashed open a villager's stomach, spilling his innards before moving to the next. A genlock stabbed another through the knee, bringing him down before slicing open his neck. They kept moving through the town, overpowering their feeble defenses as more blood pooled on the streets. 

Stricken with fear and desperation, the remaining soldiers on the battlements and on the watchtowers aimed their arrows at the Archdemon. They bounced off its thick skin as if they were nothing, instead, igniting the beast's ire. It aimed its demonic glare at them and snarled.

How dare these vermin?

How dare they not perish quietly under its might?

It inhaled and its throat glowed purple, smoke rising from its nostrils. Searing fire erupted from its mouth as it roared, engulfing everything in its wake. Ashes flew as men and darkspawn alike disintegrated under its power, the wooden battlements burning up as the blaze devoured every archer. The townsfolk wailed in agony as they too were torched or trapped under crumbling rubble as the dragon continued its assault.

The chantry came next, burning to the ground as the beast focused its anger upon it. The screams of agony of the sheltered were like music to its ears as it cooked everyone within the stone walls. Then there was silence, safe for the stragglers still fighting for their lives. Soldiers who would die, one by one. 

The archdemon roared sharply, pleased with the death and devastation it had unleashed on the mortals it so despised. Soon, it would vanquish all. And as it soared towards the next town, more darkspawn marched to its supreme call.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everything was peaceful until a certain dwarf spoke in his gruff voice. “Ancestor’s balls… You people don’t feel like you’re falling into that thing up there?”

Leliana chuckled lightly. “Is that how you feel?”

Staring up in wonder, Oghren watched the clouds float above them. “I mean… the blue is pretty and all. But damn it’s so… big!” 

Their horses galloped down the mountain path, while Oghren shared a ride with Zevran after having volunteered to come along. They had left Orzammar later than expected due to their inability to tell time while underground. Which meant they would have just enough time to reach the valley and travel a couple miles south before nightfall.

Blowing up her bags, Everil analyzed their map while still holding her horse’s reins. She scanned over the mark she'd placed on it per Genitivi's journal, which had thankfully provided them with coordinates to Haven. The place was in the southern peaks of the Frostback Mountains, nestled somewhere hidden from view. The higher elevations meant it would be cold, much like the outskirts of Orzammar, if not more. She only hoped finding the location wouldn't be as difficult as it would seem, considering there were no records of it anywhere. 

“Are you certain we should seek out these ashes? I say ‘tis a wild goose chase,” Morrigan spoke beside her. 

Everil folded the map and stashed it in her side pouch. “If they can help save Arl Eamon, I say it is worth a shot. We need him if we want to gather the human forces we need.”

“Provided we find them… What exactly makes you think they will work? For all you know, they could simply be the ashes of a phony whose existence was made holy for the sole purpose of controlling the masses.”

“You know, Morrigan, you sure doubt a lot for someone who can set things on fire and visit the Fade in your sleep,” Alistair commented, riding at the other side of his fellow Warden.

“My abilities do not prove nor validate your Chantry’s teachings, Alistair. Your faith remains riddled with deceit.” 

“How can you be so sure they’re all lies?”

“‘Tis quite simple, really. Your faith is manmade and men lie.” She gave him a sideward glance. “Such believes only remain thanks to fools such as yourself—too blind and stupid to question. ‘Tis truly quite sad.”

Alistair sent her an annoyed glare. “I do question. I may have been raised in a chantry, but I’m not particularly religious. If anything, living there made me aware of how much is wrong with it.”

She scoffed. “And yet you hold the same views about apostates and maleficarum as they do. You are not as open-minded as you believe, templar.”

“Well, we can’t all be as perfect as you… witch,” he countered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Everil shook her head at the two. “Regardless, we don’t have any options. We'll just have to hope the legend is true.” 

After several hours of travel, night was falling, the sky's colors changing to the orange, red, and yellow hues. They set up camp near a creek and Leliana had offered to do the hunting for their dinner. Meanwhile, the others sat by the newly lit fire, having idle conversation and answering Oghren’s constant questions about the surface. Except for Morrigan, who sat on her separate side of camp, cat-like eyes reflecting the glare of her fire. She stoically glanced towards the group before returning her attention to her mother’s grimoire and to the wicked secrets still hidden within its pages.

Past the trees surrounding their camp, Everil knelt by a nearby creek, which carried fresh water from the mountains, much safer to drink than that of the lakes further south. She took off her gloves and set them on the ground, then reached up to unclasp the collar of her gambeson. She spread it apart, exposing her long, slender neck and collarbone, letting out a relieved sigh as the cool air touched her skin. Her body was still sore from their trip to the Deep Roads, her muscles stiff from what seemed like a day and a half of fighting without rest.

She leaned over to cup some of the crisp liquid, bringing it to her lips and sipping it before splashing the rest over her face. Everil rolled her head back and to the side, gently running wet fingers down her throat and under her ears. And yet although she felt a little more relaxed, her mind was still running laps. Visions of the Deep Roads, with its monsters, dark corners, and promises of death still lingered. That such a place would likely be her final resting place was almost too much to bear.

No one would bring her grave flowers, or even know where she lay. Her remains would be eaten by darkspawn and her bare bones would rot into nothingness, forgotten. While Ruck or some other unfortunate soul would scavenge anything that remained.

 _I don’t want to die there…_ Dread painted her features as her reflection over the creek shifted along with its rolling waters. _Maker, I don’t want to die there…_

Taking her gloves in one hand, she stood with a huff, pushing her hair back from over her shoulder and tucking a strand behind one ear. She then spun around and paused, a little surprised upon spotting him. He was leaning casually with a shoulder on a tree and with his arms crossed, watching her as a slight smile played on his lips. 

Everil’s heart skipped a beat as the intensity of his stare made her mouth run dry. She licked her lips, her voice quiet. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I don’t know...” Alistair replied huskily. “I find it difficult to keep track of time when I look at you.”

“Flatterer…” she chuckled, cheeks tinted pink as she approached him. 

He took a step towards her and caressed the side of her face, taking notice of the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you feeling well? You hardly slept last night.”

Everil smiled sadly at him. Hiding her troubles from him had become increasingly difficult, but she needed someone to talk to. She needed him.

“Visiting the Deep Roads…” she uttered weakly, shifting her disturbed gaze to the ground. “It was more than a little unsettling...” Everil felt him draw her into a tight embrace, his chin resting atop her head. She returned the hug, sighing as the cold metal of his breast plate pressed against her cheek. Being in his arms immediately helped make her feel better, his earthly scent soothing her nerves.

“It'll be many years before we have to go back there,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I know it’s hard, but try not to think about it.” 

“I wish we didn't have to go back at all...” She withdrew just far enough to lightly kiss his lips.

“So do I...” Alistair leaned his forehead against hers, both closing their eyes as they relished each other’s company. 

After a moment that felt too brief, he took one of her hands in his and reluctantly pulled away. “Let’s return to camp... We all need some rest.”

“Right…” Everil let him lead her through the woods while staring at the back of his head. They were both destined to perish battling darkspawn in those ruins. But although her heart still felt disquiet, she knew that at least they had each other. That they would endure through this curse. Together.

They joined the group by the fire and took a seat next to one another. As they did, Leliana arrived from her hunt, carrying three hares in one hand and some herbs in the other. Wynne helped prepare them for cooking, skinning and gutting the animals while Leliana used the herbs to season the meat. They chuckled lightly as they worked, discussing the events that transpired while they were away exploring the Deep Roads.

“Lies. I didn’t get that drunk,” Zevran protested in indignation, sending Leliana a mock glare.

“Tell that to the poor dwarven lady who had to drag you back to the inn,” Leliana teased with a smirk. “I must say… You are not as charming when puking your innards into a bucket, Zevran.”

“Ah yes, I remember now... Vaguely.” He put on a wide, mischievous grin. “What can I say? I was worried sick about our friends.”

“It sounds like you made that quite literal.” Wynne smiled and shook her head. At the very least the others didn't have to experience what they did. 

“I was worried too. You were all gone for so long, I began to fear the worse,” Leliana said, her grin fading. “Morrigan did not help... Her brutal honesty is not very reassuring.”

Alistair shrugged. “You guys didn't miss much... We killed more darkspawn. Nothing we haven't done already.”

Wiping his mouth, Oghren lowered his bladder and glanced their way, noticing that they were purposely keeping the details to themselves. And he couldn't blame them. Talking about what they all saw would only remind them of how evil the very monsters they were trying to defeat truly were. Even he had to admit seeing the broodmother was something he would never forget, especially knowing it had once been one of his kind. Someone he'd even known personally. 

“What matters is that we all made it back in one piece," Wynne spoke and gave the sister a pat on the shoulder. "Now, help me put these over the fire, dear.”

After supper, the sky darkened, the stars twinkling above. Oghren admired them as he drank his liquor, leaning back in silent contemplation. Leliana’s beautiful voice soothed their ears as she sang for them, the angelic melody accompanied by the calming tune of a lute she'd purchased from a merchant in Orzammar. Wynne had long gone to sleep, saying something about how age affects your ability to remain awake after a long day. Shale and Sten were at the edge of the camp, keeping watch. While Morrigan had also retreated for the night.

Alistair stared at the fire, absently twirling a blade of grass between his fingers as he listened to the bard’s song. It was a peaceful night, a welcomed change to the chaotic few days they had running errands for a dwarven lord. It felt good seeing the sky and having the ability to tell night from day again. And now, they could work on helping Arl Eamon. 

He’d been thinking about it since the moment they left Orzammar. If things worked in their favor, they would not only save the man who practically raised him, but also the only person who could unite Ferelden's people. And after he learned of all Loghain had done, he would also be the one to cast away the traitor who destroyed their order and left his Warden-Commander for dead. 

Morrigan’s earlier words crossed his mind. 

There was a genuine possibility that they could be chasing a fable, or that they were about to waste more precious time on something that would prove ineffective on whatever ailed the arl. But despite their constant battles with uncertainty and their brushes with death, they had been fortunate. He hoped their luck would continue to hold up in the days to come.

The sound of someone yawning next to him drew his attention away from the dancing flames to Everil, who was wiping a tear out from one eye. Leliana’s music then stopped when she yawned too, letting out a chuckle and a quiet apology. 

“You lot should get some sleep. I’ll pull guard duty with the rock and the giant,” Oghren drunkenly offered, taking a swig of his drink.

Zevran gently poked at the fire with a stick, turning the coals while glancing at the dwarf. “Are you certain of that? You look merry enough to fall over yourself.”

“I may be merry, but—“ He hiccupped, then belched. “—no one will get past me without my axe meeting their arse.”

He grinned. “Then perhaps I will stay up with you, my friend. I believe I had enough sleep in Orzammar.”

Everil rose and stretched her arms, yawning once more. “Thanks, both of you…”

“I suppose I'll go, as well…” Leliana said tiredly, setting her lute down by her seat before getting up too. “Good night, everyone.” 

“Good night,” the others replied in unison before the nun entered her tent.

“You two try not to have too much of a good time,” Everil told the elf and the dwarf, smiling a little at them.

“Aye, go already, Warden.” Oghren waved her off. 

Alistair pushed himself up, facing her. “Come on... I’ll walk with you.”

“All right.” She smiled, then commanded her hound to follow. 

The two of them left the campfire, walking side by side with Bjorn trailing closely behind them. Upon reaching her tent, Alistair held her hand, drawing her attention to him. “As much as I dread leaving your side, I think it would be better if I sleep in my tent tonight.” He grinned suggestively at her. “You need your rest... and I might just try to keep you up again.”

“Oh…” Her heart dropped at this. “Very well, then...”

Alistair brought her knuckles to his lips, gently kissing them. “Rest well, my dear...”

“You too...” Everil whispered, then watched him turn around and take a step. Suddenly, the uncomfortable fear from before returned full force, leaving her feeling cold and alone. And before she could help herself, she seized his arm.

He gave her a quizzical frown. “Something wrong?”

“A-Actually…” She anxiously bit her bottom lip while bashfully averting her eyes. “Can you spend the night with me again? I… I sleep better when you’re with me.”

His expression softened. “Because of the nightmares?”

Everil swallowed and nodded slowly. “I had a terrible time sleeping last night after… everything. I don't want to be alone if it happens again.”

He half-smiled, fully understanding her trepidation. The visions that plagued them could very well bring even the bravest to the edges of madness. And after all their personal experience with the Deep Roads and their close encounter with the Archdemon, their dreams seem to have worsened. They tormented them. Showing them visions of the terrible things he wished he could forget, but doubted he ever would. “I suppose that instead of keeping you up… I could just stare at you while you sleep.” He tried to lighten the mood, then paused for a moment, clearing his throat. “Erm… That actually sounded kind of creepy...”

A light chuckle escaped her at his poor attempt at humor. She opened the flap to her tent and entered before he went in after her. Bjorn lay down by the entrance to keep watch while staring at the drinking pair by the campfire.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was still dark when Bjorn's barking startled them awake, joined by the sounds of a battle outside. Everil and Alistair shot up, his arm unwinding from around her waist when he instinctively reached for his sword. "Damn it… And I was sleeping well for once…" he groaned, sitting up and rising to his feet. He went to the door as Everil pushed herself to her feet and followed him.

“Who in Andraste’s name could it be?” she asked, drawing her blade.

They ran outside just as her hound tackled a man who got too close to their tent and tore off his throat with a vicious growl. Everil gave her dog a quick nod before dashing towards the next incoming attacker—a man wearing the leathers of a rogue. There was no time to ask questions as he ran at her with his daggers. She let him swing, dodged, and used his body’s forward motion to run him through. Meanwhile, Alistair cut down another behind her, slashing open his chest and then stabbing him in the gut.

Oghren roared as he swung his axe, nearly hacking a man in half before seeing the Wardens approach. “Who are these sodded bastards?”

“You didn't ask them?” Everil jested as she stabbed another man.

“I tend not to ask questions when someone comes at me with their weapon, boss,” Oghren retorted, stepping up to engage the next enemy.

Ducking, she kicked at a man's legs, knocking him on his back before she brought her sword down into his chest. She rose and was about to strike at another one, when someone’s voice cut into their battle.

“Stop right there, Grey Wardens!” 

The group halted and slowly spun as one of their attackers walked up from behind a tent, roughly dragging someone by the arm. When they came into the light, the thugs left standing laughed.

“Wynne!” Leliana cried out.

The man wore fine leathers and a blue cloak, which told them he was either a noble or a well-paid bounty hunter. He chuckled darkly, focusing on the two Wardens. “It seems the rumors of you lot traveling in these parts were true, after all.”

Everil glowered at him. “What do you want?”

“Your heads—" He snickered, chuckling deeply. “—and the nice bounty King Loghain put on them.”

“Oh? Considering your odds of survival, you're all either very brave or very stupid,” Alistair taunted with a humorless smile. “And I'm leaning towards stupid.”

“Is the coin truly worth the risk?” Everil added.

“You’re in no position to make threats,” he bit out, pressing his blade to Wynne’s pale neck.

“Speak for yourself.” 

A sharp dagger on his jugular made him freeze, his hold on Wynne faltering. 

Zevran smirked, standing behind the bounty hunter as if he’d been part of the shadows all along. His voice was as gentle and inviting as silk as he spoke into the man’s ear. “Kindly release the lady… I would hate to have to stain her pretty robe with your blood.”

He gulped. “All right… Let’s not be hasty now.” He did as he was told, raising both hands in surrender. Wynne quickly moved away, but Zevran kept his weapon at his throat. The man nervously gazed towards the Wardens. “You win. Let me go and I will take my men with me and leave.”

The elf smiled at Everil. “What say you, my lady?” 

She eyed him for a long moment. He’d cowardly attacked while they slept and took an old woman hostage, fully intending to kill her to get to them and the coin he evidently didn't need. Such a person would surely place greed before his own word and would probably still chase after them wherever they went. The glint in his eye and the smirk on his face confirmed it.

“Kill them,” she commanded coolly.

“Wha—”

His blood sprayed the air and splattered the grass, painting the green red. After a brief battle, the rest of his men soon followed, their bodies littering their camp. 

“I'm beginning to think that perhaps we should've let them go. It will be difficult to go back to sleep with dead bodies everywhere,” Leliana commented, kneeling to clean her dagger with the clothes of one of her kills.

“Had we not disposed of them now, they would've surely returned later.” Everil then glanced up to the sky. “It'll be sunrise soon anyway. We may as well use this time to continue our journey to Haven.” She then regarded Wynne, her features softening. “Are you all right?”

The mage smiled. “Yes... Thank you for your help.”

“You should thank Zevran instead.” She grinned, motioning to the elf with her thumb.

Zevran grinned, put away his weapons and performed an elaborate bow before the Warden. “I merely did as my mistress commanded.”

Behind her, Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Are you Wardens hunted fugitives or something?” Oghren muttered, his mighty axe resting on one shoulder.

“It's a lengthy story…” Everil answered with a huff.

The party picked up their camp while they told the dwarf what happened from the beginning. And Everil found it surreal to talk about how much they experienced and how many battles they fought and won. Some parts of the story even sounded like something out of a storybook, or a well-written play. Which also made her realize just how much they'd struggled throughout it all. 

After packing, they continued on, with the Wardens leading the way. It took them a few days to reach the southern mountains and make their way up their icy, traitorous paths. The horses breathed heavily as they climbed, the galloping occasionally muffled by patches of snow. It covered everything in sight as the breeze grazed the surface, picking up the fine powder.

Ahead of them, a stone arch emerged in the horizon, and behind it stood small, wooden huts. The place was much more secluded than expected, surrounded by miles of wilderness. The village was so far west it was a few miles shy of sitting right next to Orlais, on the other side of the Frostback Mountains. The peaks separated it from the rest of civilization, acting as a natural wall and deterring any travelers—except for them.

They reached the entrance to find a guard posted at the front, with a black beard and wearing armor that seemed to be older than it should be.

“Greetings,” Everil spoke first, halting her horse a few steps from him. “Is this Haven?”

He gave them a suspicious look, gripping his spear. “It is. And we do not take kindly to visitors from the lowlands. What is it you want, strangers?”

“Sheesh… Warm fellow, isn't he?” Alistair mumbled beside her, earning a sharp glance from the guard.

Everil was unconcerned by the obvious hostility. “We are looking for Brother Genitivi. He left a message in Denerim stating that he would be visiting this village. Is he still here?” 

“There is no one here by that name. Now, I suggest you turn around and head back down to where you belong before things go badly for you.”

Bjorn growled, poking his head around her shoulder from his spot upon her horse’s rump.

“It’s all right, boy…” She lifted a hand to her hound, then addressed the guard once more. “May we have a word with your village leader? It is imperative we find Genitivi. Any information will help.” 

“Revered Father Eirik is currently busy with the daily sermon at the town’s chantry. He shall not be disturbed. **”**

“What? A Father instead of a Revered Mother?” Morrigan raised a brow. “‘Tis the first I have heard of a male leading a chantry… interesting.”

“All right…” Everil paused for a moment, then an idea came to mind, a small, friendly smile forming on her lips. “Then may we at least trade at your shops? We are in need of supplies after our long journey here.”

The guard seemed to consider her proposition, conflict visible on his rugged face, until he finally answered. “You may... But only trade and quickly. Once done, you must leave immediately.”

“Understood. My thanks,” she responded with a dip of her head, then regarded the others. “We dismount here. Tie the horses to the trees.”

They dropped off their mounts in the outskirts before heading in, the guard giving them a scrutinizing glare as they walked by. The village was small, made up of wooden cottages and a plain, snow-covered dirt road. They could hear the distant sound of clucking chickens, just over the creaking of the dried up bushes and the evergreen trees. No one walked the streets but them.

An uncomfortable feeling tugged at the back of Everil's mind as she observed their surroundings. _This is no ordinary village…_

“Where is everyone?” Leliana worded her question, gaze shifting from corner to corner.

“If there's a sermon then maybe they're all at the chantry?” Alistair replied with a shrug, then turned to Everil. “Which brings me to ask… You didn't intend for us to just trade and leave, did you?”

She smirked at him. “Of course not.”

“Oooh sneaky…” He grinned back. “Nice.”

“Then perhaps we should make haste,” Wynne said. “That guard’s words made me… uneasy. Maker knows they may have done something to this Genitivi.”

“Way ahead of you...” Everil looked towards the tall building at the top of a steep hill, Andraste’s symbol shining with the sun's glare over it.

  
  



	2. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ hey opened the chantry doors and  _ strolled in as if they owned it, the Grey Wardens walking in first as the others followed. Those inside spun to face them with blank stares, the priest speaking before them pausing mid-sentence to gaze at the newcomers. Realizing they were outsiders, their expressions darkened. But Everil ignored them, her attention directly on the old man at the center of the group as she and her party stopped a few steps from them.

“You have interrupted our daily sermon... Such rudeness...” Eirik’s wrinkled face scrunched into a scowl at the intruders. “But I can tell you are not one of us, so I shall let this one slide. Why have you come to our peaceful village, strangers?”

“Our apologies for disrupting your sermon… Father. I shall save us some time and go straight to the point." Everil sternly folded her arms. "We seek a man by the name of Genitivi. We know he came to this village, so tell me where he is.”

“Watch your tone, outsider!” A woman barked at her. They were all dressed in simple tunics and robes, lined with fur to shield them from the cold.

“Now, now, my child. It’s quite all right,” Eirik coaxed gently, then put both hands behind his back, lifting his chin as he turned cold eyes to Everil. “As you have seen, we like to live our lives apart from the rest of the world. It is how we maintain our traditions as loyal servants of Andraste and how we keep our blood clean of the corruption in the lowlands. We do not share our village’s location with anyone from the outside. Therefore, your Genitivi could not possibly have found his way here. Your arrival must be nothing but an accident.”

“I don't believe so, Father.” Everil met his cool gaze with her own, her patience quickly wearing thin. “You see… Several knights sent to search for him went missing and never returned. We also happened to stumble upon a group of men who killed his helper and tried to kill us when we found Genitivi’s journal— coincidentally, in his very house. I have a feeling that there is a connection between your secrecy and the aforementioned incidents.”

He remained calm at the accusation, though there was a glint in his stare while those standing with him stiffened.

“Now, allow me to be blunt…” Everil continued, unfazed by their scorn. "I don't care about what your people do here. My purpose here isn't to cause trouble. I simply wish to find the man I seek and be on my way. So please, stop wasting my time and tell me the truth.”

A pause followed and then Eirik released a long sigh. “I suppose nothing I say will make you leave. Such a shame…” He pulled a blade from his waist and his followers also drew their weapons, while guards burst from the door behind them, prepared to fight. 

Her party responded by arming themselves, standing by her.

“Just try it, choir boys…” Oghren grinned wickedly at the nearest guards.

Everil let out a breath at the Father’s insolent decision, her arms still crossed in disregard for his show of strength. “Look, we have no interest in fighting any of you. Stand down and just tell me where Genitivi is. There is no need for bloodshed.”

“Everyone in this village knows you’re here…" Eirik replied darkly. "And together, we are legion. We will drive you out of here in pieces and no one in the lowlands will know. Kill them!”

She clicked her tongue and drew her blade. “Fools…” 

Some of his followers went after her directly, letting out a battle cry while raising their arms. Everil dodged a woman's sword and brought hers to her throat, cutting it open as her blood sprayed the wooden floors. Quickly, the Warden dodged the thrust of a man's dagger, then stabbed him in the neck. Fast and precise. She then ducked to avoid a horizontal strike with a mace, then whirled on one foot to stab its wielder in the gut. Everil watched him fall as he tried to hold the blood inside his body, then her dangerous stare once again focused on the Father. 

Eirik took a step back as she began her approach, her calm demeanor almost unnerving. Behind her, her friends made short work of the guards and the rest of the attacking townsfolk. “You won't leave here alive!" he yelled at her, pride overtaking the fear. “Andraste will not be disturbed!” Angered and desperate, he tried to stab her, only to miss and find himself impaled. He coughed up crimson and crumbled to the ground, life slowly leaving his frail body.

Her companions gathered behind her, all now lightly covered in the blood of those they'd slain. “I think that was half the village,” Zevran joked with a snide smile.

“I'm sure the rest of them will join in soon enough...” Alistair told him with a sigh. "I can't believe they just attacked like that… It's like they didn't care if they lived or died. And what was that about Andraste and… clean blood?”

Morrigan scrutinized the temple. "I do believe there is a word for that... It appears we have stumbled upon a cult."

"A cult…? But they worshiped Andraste," Alistair said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Just because you share the same faith does not mean these people practiced it the same way. They were claiming others were unclean and were clearly willing to kill them for it," Wynne added to the conversation. "There are extremes to everything, Alistair. I believe Morrigan is right in this."

“Well, that is a first…” the witch muttered, crossing her arms.

As if in reverent silence, Everil knelt before the Father’s body and turned him over, inspecting his pockets for any clues. She produced a piece of paper from his robe, then when she opened it, something else caught her eye. A frown creased her brow and she reached for the odd piece of jewelry around his neck, snapping it off to inspect it. There was a slot at the back of it as if something could fit in it. She scanned the note, the scribbled words mentioning an old temple.

“Evy... over here,” Leliana proclaimed from a nearby wall, her hands touching the bricks.

Everil stood and walked towards her. She eyed the wall, noticing some of the brick patterns didn't line up. "It's a door…" she uttered, then began to push against one side, the brick caving lightly. Seeing this, the Warden turned to the former nun. “Help me push on this side.”

Both women pressed their hands against it and it turned inwards, the other side rotating outwards. The others approached them with curious glances, Oghren mumbling something about sneaky cultists.

Everil stepped into the hidden room first, only to duck when a book came flying her way.

“Coming for more!”

She spun to a man lying on the floor of what seemed to be a hidden study, his ankle badly swollen. He seemed well dressed and old in age. Bruises covered his wrinkled face and he had a scratch on his balding head, signs that he'd struggled and his captors beat him for it.

“Who are you?” she asked with a frown.

“I have already told you! I'm only a scholar from Denerim! What more do you want from me?"

“A scholar…” she echoed, stepping closer. "Are you Genitivi?”

He calmed down at the mention of his name but still regarded her with suspicion. “I am, yes...” he replied cautiously, then his weary eyes finally landed over the symbol on her chest, surprise quickly hitting him. “You’re a Grey Warden?”

"Yes. We came to seek you out at Lady Isolde’s request.”

“The arlessa of Redcliffe?”

She nodded. “Arl Eamon has fallen ill. We think the only way to save him is to use Andraste’s Ashes. She thinks you know where they are.”

“I see…” He made to stand, only to fall back down with a hiss. “Damn them!”

Everil dropped to a knee. “Are you all right? Is it your foot?”

“Y-Yes. I think I broke it trying to escape.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Wynne, can you help?”

The old woman moved in to kneel beside her, pulling up his pant leg to inspect the joint. Concerned, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I can ease the pain, but it has become infected. That means it will take time for it to heal, even with my magic.” She frowned at him. “How long have you been here like this?”

“I lost count of the days,” he replied hopelessly. 

“Was it worth it? Did you find the Urn of Sacred Ashes?” Everil inquired, bringing his attention back to her.

“I did… in a way.” Genitivi smiled and pulled out a journal from his coat, handing it over to her. “The temple at the top of the mountain is where Andraste’s Ashes were taken after her enemies burned her at the stake. I theorized the Urn still lies there. However, I could not get close to the ruins because of these… cultists.”

“Who are they?” 

“Unfortunately, I didn't hear much about them, despite having been here for so long. They are careful to keep their secrets to themselves. All I know is that… they are quite violent.”

“Yes. We found that out a moment ago,” Alistair muttered from beside the secret door, having been listening to their conversation.

“I wondered what those screams meant...” Genitivi said uncomfortably.

Everil gave him back the journal and then stood. “Well, we know where to go now. You stay here and wait for us to come back.”

“I can't.” He forced himself to his feet, wincing in pain. “I spent most of my life looking for this place. I refuse to sit here when I am so close to seeing the Urn with my very own eyes.”

“No,” Everil replied curtly, turning to leave.

“What? Why not?" Genitivi questioned in bewilderment.

She paused and gazed over her shoulder. “That ankle can barely hold your weight. You will only drag us down.”

He swallowed, briefly glancing at his foot. “I can hold my own, Warden.”

“You're staying. I won't discuss it further and you are in no shape to argue.”

Genitivi bit his tongue, finding himself only able to glare at her in frustration.

“Wynne…” Everil turned to her mage. “Stay here with him and care for his ankle until we return. We'll take care of any enemies outside.”

She nodded. “Understood, my lady."

With that, she left the room, the others trailing behind her.

“He seemed pretty upset,” Alistair commented as they made their way towards the front doors of the temple.

Everil sighed. “I don't blame him… But we won't be able to protect him on our way to the ruins. It will be safer for him here.”

They left the Chantry and made their way down the hill just as a group of villagers ran up the steep incline. Men, women, and children—all armed and screaming as if possessed.

"Kill the outsiders!"

"For Andraste!"

“Here comes the other half of the village,” Zevran called as he drew his daggers. 

“Don’t attack them,” Everil commanded her party, then shouted at the incoming cultists. “Stop, please! We don’t want to fight you!”

But they kept charging, their crazed faces telling her they didn't care about anything she said. One of them got too close, swinging at her as she backed away to avoid it. She used the pommel of her sword, hitting him across the face and knocking him to the side. Several more attacked and forced them to engage them and defend themselves. Shale and Sten blocked attacks and pushed, shielding Morrigan while Zevran, Oghren, Everil, and Alistair tried to knock them down.

"We said stop!" Alistair snapped as he blocked a hit with his sword. "We don't want to hurt you!”

“Did your mother not—” Zevran grabbed at an armed child’s flailing arms. "—teach you not to run with knives?" 

“I said stand down, damn it!” Everil cried out, dodging another slash.

Oghren used the top of his axe to knock the air out of a woman who had run at him screaming. "They’re not listening~" 

"They armed themselves and attack us. They are no longer innocents, they are combatants," Sten said over the cries of the villagers as he backhanded one man.

“I agree. Kill the wretched things!” Shale added while using her body to protect their mage, who stood behind her gazing at the chaos with folded arms and a bored look.

Everil kicked at a man, then clenched her jaw, struggling with the decision she was about to make. There were too many and she wasn't willing to risk losing one of her own people trying to subdue them. There was nothing else they could do. She clicked her tongue and her voice was strained as she gave the order. “C-Cut them down! Quick and painless if you can!”

And within minutes, they slaughtered what remained of the crazed townsfolk, their blood soaking the dirt and snow.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Warden left Shale and Sten behind to protect their supplies, as well as both Wynne and the scholar, fearing that more of the cultists still lay in wait after watching their brethren die by their hand. It puzzled her how easily they threw their lives away, fighting on despite her attempts at avoiding confrontation. Her mind kept searching for other ways in which she could have handled the situation, for anything that could have avoided their deaths. Yet despite finding none, she couldn’t justify her decision.  _ No time for guilt now, Everil… Focus… _

“Ancestor’s balls… This sodded place is so damn cold not even the ale’s helping,” Oghren muttered moodily as they trekked through a tunnel, the thin coat of ice on the walls reflecting her torch's light.

Everil glanced his way. “By what Genitivi’s journal said, there is an exit at the other end of this cave. We just have to find it.” 

“I hope we find it quickly.” Zevran folded his arms, shivering involuntarily. “I don't believe sunshine ever reaches these walls.”

“I thought you'd be glad you got to come along,” Alistair told the elf with a smirk. “You can go back to the village if you want.”

He snickered. “And miss the opportunity to admire my lady’s beautiful rear end every time the breeze lifts that cloak of hers? I think not.”

Everil shot him an annoyed look, having been walking ahead of the group along with her hound.

“Hey…” Alistair warned him. 

“Oh, please…" Morrigan scoffed at the two men, walking past them. "You are both sickening to watch. Drooling over one woman like a pair of wild dogs. Pathetic.” 

Zevran put on a flirtatious smile. “Not just one woman, my dear... Not for me.”

The witch scowled at him, curling her nose as if she'd smelled something foul.

After hours of climbing the cave, the group finally reached a wide chamber with an elaborate arched gate through which bright sunlight entered. Everil used her canteen to put out the torch, then strapped it to her waist as they neared the steps leading up to it. They stopped halfway when three men appeared through the blinding light.

“So you are the ones who attacked our sacred village," a booming voice echoed as a muscular man holding a massive spear came down the steps, a sleeveless coat showing off rock hard arms. He focused on the female Warden as he stopped in front of her, the two men behind him holding similar weapons. “Woman. You lead this group?

“I do," she replied, lifting her nose at him. “We came to visit Andraste’s final resting place. We need her ashes to help an ailing man. Now, step aside and we won’t have any trouble.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and he smirked. “I admire a woman’s strength. It reminds me of the power our beloved Andraste held in her human form.”

Her eyebrows knitted. “Human form?”

“You seek the Urn of Sacred Ashes, do you not? Many have sought after it. And many we have killed for their blasphemy. But perhaps you and I can come to an agreement.”

“I don’t understand... How would the Urn be an insult to Andraste?”

"That wretched object is an affront to our mistress' power. Andraste has been reborn. And yet the existence of the Urn keeps her tied to this realm. It must be destroyed!”

Alistair etched closer to her, leaning onto her ear. “Someone has been up here too long.”

“Agreed,” she muttered back and then returned her attention to the cultist before her. “All right… What is this agreement you speak of?”

He reached into his bag, producing a small pouch. “We will let you pass and visit the temple if you agree to poison the Urn. You can take a pinch of the ashes before you go, just get rid of the rest.”

Everil blinked. “What?”

“Not gonna happen," Alistair took a step, hard eyes meeting his. “We won’t defile Andraste’s ashes simply because of some... lunatic! Now, get out of our way or you'll regret it.”

A murderous expression fell upon the cultist’s face. “Then you leave us no choice but to kill you...” he bit out and swung with a roar. Alistair blocked his spear with his sword, while Everil and the rest spread out, taking on the other two men. 

Grunting, Alistair shoved the spear aside and swung around, aiming for the cultist's head. The man used his gauntlet to block, then thrust, narrowly missing his stomach. He whirled around, slashing at the air as Alistair ducked. The Warden gritted his teeth when he brought his spear down again, forcing him to quickly hop back as it hit the ground.

"Die!" the cultist cried out and swung, but this time, Alistair read it, moving in to catch the handle with one hand. His sword met his gut, impaling him and running him through. 

Everil spun to dodge a hit, and as she did, she brought her blade in an arch, slicing her foe across the chest. While Zevran ducked and avoided a stab, striking at the last man’s spear as Oghren charged from behind, cutting through his back. 

After dispatching them, Everil sheathed her blades. They eyed the bodies as they bled, the sound of their dying wails still echoing around them. “So that's what they believe... " she said with a sigh. "That explains why they wanted to keep ‘lowlanders’ away from their lands.”

Alistair glared down at the cultist’s body. “I wonder what they meant by Andraste having been reborn...”

“We'll find out soon enough. Let’s go.” Everil walked towards the steps while the others followed.

When they emerged from the cave, old ruins greeted them, their structures still standing tall despite the clear passing of time. Marble pillars towered over them, lining their path as it stretched before them. It led towards an open valley atop the mountain, snow covering every corner as the rocky walls framed the area. The cold breeze swept up their cloaks as they walked, forcing her to adjust her fur-lined hood.

The frozen air caused their lungs to burn with each breath as they carefully made their way to the end of the passage. All was silent except for the howling of the wind and the clicking of their footsteps over the rock floor. In the distance, they could see an elaborate entrance to a temple built into the mountain, its majesty as if from the heavens themselves.

It all seemed peaceful until a black shadow darkened the sky and a gust of wind blew around them at the flap of great wings. They stared up in surprise and fear, watching it pass over them. Reacting quickly, they rushed to the nearest hiding spot. Alistair, Everil, and Bjorn ducked behind a pile of stone rubble at the end of their path, while the others took cover behind the pillars nearby.

It was a blue dragon, soaring through the clouds in all its glory, circling the valley from above. It slammed on top of the temple ahead, its terrifying roar resounding through the mountain and chilling them to the bone.

“The surprises never end, do they?” Everil grumbled, peering over the rubble at the beast above, its size almost greater than Flemeth's had been during their battle against the witch.

“Yep. And this one brings some uncomfortable memories…” Alistair replied as if he held the same thoughts. “Could that be what they meant by Andraste having been reborn?”

“The fools probably think the dragon is the reincarnation of their prophetess.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “My, but religion is such a curious thing.”

“I say let’s run for it before that thing decides to sniff us out,” Oghren grumbled, gripping his axe with both hands. 

“The dwarf has my vote,” Zevran added with a nervous smile.

Everil nodded at them, then looked to the temple doors. “All right... We make a mad dash for the entrance.”

“And what do we do on our way back?” Alistair asked with a quirked brow.

She shrugged and smiled up at him. “Unless there's another way out in there… Another mad dash.” 

“Oh…" He blinked, then smirked towards the temple. "Fair enough."

Everil peered over their cover. It was technically a straight shot to the doors. She pursed her lips and prepared herself, her hands firmly on the pile of rock. “Let’s go!” She leaped over and ran, rushing towards their goal while the others hurried after her. They sprinted as if the dragon itself were chasing after them, Oghren lagging thanks to his short height.

Hearing their footsteps, the dragon lifted its head, spotting them. It snarled and growled, rising as its claws dug into the rock, preparing to pounce on them from its perch. 

They burst into the temple and turned to Oghren, waiting as the dwarf tried to catch up. "Hurry, Oghren! Move those legs!" Zevran shouted to him, a grin on his face.

“I'm sodding tryin'!" he huffed out. The dragon roared again and dropped, slamming onto the ground just behind the dwarf as snow and rock exploded under its weight. Oghren made it just as the beast whirled around and opened its jaws, preparing its fire breath. They quickly closed the solid rock doors and stepped back, the heat of the flames radiating from it in waves. 

"Urgh… Too damn close…" The dwarf panted for air, a hand on a knee while trying to catch his breath. 

Alistair sighed. "Hopefully it won't be waiting for us out there the next time around."

"We could just carry our little friend here,” Zevran offered, sending Oghren a teasing smile. 

Oghren glared up at him. “Yeah… laugh it up...”

Ignoring their banter, Everil surveyed the room, taking a few slow steps, eyes growing wide and lips parted. It was a towering hall that extended before them, with exquisite hanging chandeliers, expertly chiseled stone murals and columns made of white granite. Ancient female statues lined the path to a set of double stairs in the distance, casting blank stares upon them as if welcoming them into their domain. Ice covered every surface, glistening like glass under the light filtering from the cracks in the ceiling.

“Maker, look at it all…” Alistair whispered in wonder, walking behind her.

“Let’s keep our eyes open... I don’t think we've seen the last of our little cultist friends,” Everil told her party, observing their surroundings as they strode to the stairs.

They made it to the door at the second level, which they found locked. Everil inspected it, spotting the elaborate lock at its center. She recognized the symbol over it and reached into her bag, producing the pendant they’d retrieved from Eirik’s body. She pressed it into the slot, which allowed her to turn it until they heard a click. It opened, and she slowly stepped into a room that was well lit with torches. 

Her brow creased in puzzlement. “It seems they had access to the temple the entire time... Who are these people?”

They walked through the room, finding another door that led into an adjacent area. They continued on, exploring the temple while admiring the old artifacts within. Paintings depicting old battles and figures she had seen in history books adorned the walls. Ancient books and scrolls filled shelves and laid over desks from room to room, the scent of parchment and dust lingering in the air. The scrolls were ancient, the language so archaic, they couldn’t understand the words—not even Morrigan. 

As they walked through the white passages, Everil was beginning to understand the incredible significance of Genitivi’s discovery. This was the resting place of the holy figure whose life made up her religious faith. These were the ruins that kept the remains of the Maker’s mortal wife. The realization was humbling, yet quite troubling.  _ If the Chantry found out about this place… _

Opening another door, they emerged to an enormous room with more towering pillars and statues. There was a hole in a wall which had allowed snow to crawl in from the outside. Everil walked a few steps when a glint by the floor had her crane her head down. It was a string, attached to something hidden under the snow. 

“Wait,” she quickly told the others, then knelt by it, drawing a pocket knife from her belt. She cut the string and stood, scowling. “They’re in here...”

With a cry, a group of cultists burst out of the snow, surprising them. "Kill the intruders!" one of them roared.

Everil evaded an attack and struck up, stabbing the man under the jaw before withdrawing her blade and engaging the next. Her hound tackled another behind her, tearing his throat apart. Alistair used his shield to block a sword and then hit the enemy with it, making him stumble in a daze. He then slashed through his middle, spraying blood over the white, icy floors. 

Zevran took out several more as he ran through the room, dodging attacks with ease and cutting down the enemy as he went. Oghren stood his ground, roaring as he hacked at the incoming enemies. Morrigan kept her distance, setting aflame those who got too close. 

“Arseholes…” Alistair muttered with a sigh, sheathing his sword at his hip. 

Putting away her blades, Everil craned her head to the doorway ahead and went to it, puzzled by what she saw within. A deep chasm spread before them, and past it, lay another door. There was no bridge or path to help reach it, instead, several odd platforms lined the area around the precipice. 

The other Warden walked up to peer into the deep hole in the ground, seeing no bottom. “Erm… Is there no other way around?”

“I don't think so...” she replied, folding her arms. “I don’t understand... We have explored the entire place. This is the only door we haven't gone through yet.”

Morrigan walked up to one of the platforms and observed the symbols inscribed over it. Curious, she stepped on it, startling the group when it caused a large, see-through tile to appear over the chasm. When she stepped off, it faded away, disappearing from sight. She turned to Everil. “‘Tis a magical puzzle of sorts.” 

“Then I suppose we should all step on a platform...” Everil walked towards the one next to Morrigan’s, climbing onto it. The others did the same, except for Oghren, who didn’t have one to step on due to their numbers. Their action caused several tiles to appear, lining up to make a bridge to the door.

But as soon as Everil stepped off her tile disappeared. With a sigh, she walked around the chasm. “It seems only one of us can make it through.”

“There could be something important ahead if that’s the case,” Oghren offered, stroking his mustache.

“I'll be the one to go,” Everil declared without hesitation.

“Are you certain, my lady?” Zevran questioned from where he stood. “We don't know what could be waiting past that door.”

“I agree…” Alistair added worriedly. “We won’t be able to help you if you run into any more of those cultists or something worse.”

“We have little choice…" she said with an unwavering stare. "One of us has to make it to the ashes and I’m good at avoiding trouble if needed.”

“What about Zevran? He’s a skilled rogue too.”

“So send in the elf instead… typical,” Zevran said with a chuckle and a smirk. “All jest aside... I would give up my life for my mistress. Were she to send me in, I would go with a smile on my face.”

“Thank you, Zevran… But my decision stands.” Everil smiled at him before returning her attention to Alistair. “Just wait for me. I'll return with the ashes in my hand.”

He sighed. “All right. Just be careful.” 

They positioned themselves over the platforms, making the bridge appear again. Everil approached it carefully, placing the tip of her boot on it to ensure it was a firm surface. She took a step, and then another, trudging through the magical bridge. Alistair watched anxiously as she went, releasing a breath he did not know he’d been holding when she finally reached the other side. 

She spun about to face them. “Keep your guard up.”

And Everil opened the door, disappearing into the next room.


	3. The Urn of a Prophetess

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ fter crossing another hallway,  _ Everil entered a wide room, which was barely lit by a single torch. A tan, bearded knight with long black hair and glimmering silver armor stood beside it, watching her intently as she approached on steady steps. He was armed, yet there was a soothing aura about him, his deep brown eyes filled with a calm that spoke not of hostility, but of acceptance.

“Greetings, pilgrim,” he spoke in a deep, unearthly voice. “I am the guardian who protects the last resting place of our beloved prophetess Andraste. Have you come to pay your respects to our lady?”

“I have... in part,” she replied quietly. “Tell me, ser… Do you know about the villagers we fought on our way here?”

Sadness fell upon his face, etched with shame. “They are the descendants of Andraste’s most loyal followers. They were entrusted with protecting the temple when our lady’s ashes were brought here, but have unfortunately lost their way over the centuries.”

“I see…” she sighed.

The knight gave her an inquisitive stare. “You said you came not only to pay your respects but for something more?”

“Yes… I came seeking the ashes to save a noble man’s life.”

He nodded slowly. “The ashes of our lady possess miraculous properties. But before you can go near them you must prove your faith and your worth by conquering The Gauntlet.”

“The Gauntlet?” she echoed with a knitted brow.

“A test of faith. Every pilgrim must face their own personal trial and open themselves to Andraste. Through this, they shall demonstrate their unwavering service to her.”

“All right then…” She crossed her arms. “When do I start?”

“You have but to step through this door.” He gestured to the door beside him. “Good luck… Grey Warden.”

A slight smile graced her lips. “Thank you, ser.” 

Inhaling deeply, Everil approached the door and reached for the handle. She slowly cracked it open, darkness meeting her on the other side, as unnerving as the gaping maws of a lion. A chill almost made her shiver as she took a decisive step forward, the temperature around her dropping further.

The Warden huffed smoke, waiting patiently for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Blue flames lined the walls, vaguely illuminating the long passage before her as it faded into darkness deeper in. She carefully trekked through, fully expecting something to pounce from the shadows. The silence was palpable, her ears picking up nothing but her own breathing and the steady drum of her pounding pulse. 

Slowly but surely, Everil neared the end of the passage, where a silhouette began to take shape. It emerged as if materializing out of thin air, the dim azure light of the flames revealing it to be in the shape of a man. Her eyes narrowed as her hand reached for the sword at her hip, assuming them to be an enemy she was to conquer. But after taking the final step, the man's face was finally revealed to her. 

And she froze as her voice caught in her throat.  _ It can't be…  _ A quivering breath escaped her, her heart wrenching as her arm fell limp to her side. “Father…?”

Teyrn Bryce Cousland stared at her with a tender smile, the same he’d held for her before he died. There was no pain in his eyes, no wounds on his body, and no remorse on his features. Only love. 

“My darling daughter…” His voice resonated around her. “You remain as beautiful as ever… I dare say even more so with the battle scar of a warrior.”

The Warden swallowed the knot that choked her, yet still barely found her words. “Are you… Are you my test?”

“I am…” 

Everil hesitated, unable to tell if he was real or fake. But there were no choices to be made here. She had to play along with whatever it was the trial had in store for her, however painful. She sighed heavily, then did her best to meet her father's gaze. “Then… what is it you have for me?” 

Bryce chuckled softly, amused. “Always the impatient one… I've nothing for you but a chat, pup.”

The all familiar nickname made her chest tighten further, her hands closing into fists as if to contain her emotions. “A chat…? About what?”

“About you…” The smile on his face turned into concern as he clasped his hands behind his back. “You still suffer deeply over our passing. And there is much regret weighing on you. You try to hide this from everyone around you, but you cannot hide it from me, pup.” An almost imperceptible sigh left him. “Tell me… Why do you feel so guilty?”

For a moment, Everil couldn't speak, her mind forcefully recalling the attack on Highever castle—her home. The memory of her dying nephew was ever so clear, his vacant stare haunting her, reminding her that, if only she’d heard his call for help sooner, she would have been able to save him. Through the halls, soldiers and servants lay dead. And it all seemed to replay as if she were still walking over their corpses, her steps wet with their blood. Then she relived the last smile her mother and father gave her just before Duncan and Alistair took her away from it all. She would never forget the way they'd looked at her, with such hope, love, and encouragement as their world crumbled around them.

She covered her mouth to stifle a broken sob as regret and pain stabbed at her like the sharpest knife. It was because of the guilt that she refused to grief. She didn’t deserve to shed those tears. Not until she could atone by taking Howe’s life just as he had taken theirs.

_ No… _

_ I can’t…. _

She wouldn’t. 

_ Not yet… _

Everil took in a series of deep breaths, trying to quell the raging storm of emotions threatening to spill out of her. Then she risked speaking, her voice strained from the titanic battle against her own tears. “I failed you… I should have done more to save you. Instead, I fled like a coward and left you and Mother to die.” She gulped thickly, too ashamed to look him in the eyes, her fists shaking at her sides. “Please forgive me…”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her anguished gaze back to him. “While there were other possibilities, we do not begrudge you. You did what we pushed you to do.”

She shook her head. “One of the few times I obeyed your orders…”

With a tender smile, Bryce gently stroked her cheek, his touch as cold as the ice on the walls. “You survived... And now you are close to saving Ferelden from the Blight. That is worthy of our sacrifice.” 

“But… it didn’t have to be so…”

“Life is not fair nor is it predictable… What matters is that you are still doing what is right by fulfilling your duty, as all Couslands should. I am proud of you my dear girl. We all are.”

A single tear broke through her defenses, sliding down the side of her face as she let herself smile a little at his words. “Thank you… Father…”

“You have passed your first test,” he uttered, then leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Live on, my pup... Don't allow your misplaced guilt to take over your life.”

And then he vanished in the same way he’d arrived.

Everil stood as if in a daze, unsteady fingers coming to touch the chilled spot where he’d kissed her. His words slightly eased her burden, but a deep sense of loss and sadness remained. Real or not, this would probably be the last time she would ever see her father again. The last time she would ever hear his voice. Anger soon welled up within her as she forcibly wiped the tear, her hatred for the man who'd destroyed them kindled anew.  _ Damn you, Howe… Damn you! I will end you. I swear it! _

Gritting her teeth, the Warden pushed on and continued her trek through the dark, narrow passage.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Time seemed to drag in this strange part of the temple, but after a moment of walking, a doorway emerged. She crossed it and entered a wide chamber, with several platforms lining the floor on each side. More phantoms appeared over each platform, but these people were strangers to her.

She tentatively approached the first, unsure of what to do. It was an old woman with short hair, wearing a simple peasant dress. Tears slowly streamed down her face, quiet sobs shaking her frail body.

“Spirit…?” Everil called, uncertain while feeling a little sympathy for her. “What test have you for me..?”

The spirit gazed upon her, riddled with sadness. “Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in night and is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?”

The Warden blinked, trying to make sense of what she said.  _ A riddle?  _ It took her a moment, but she put the words together. She licked her lips, hoping her deductive skills were correct. “You speak of dreams…?”

“I am Brona. A dream came upon me as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life and her betrayal and death. I am sorrow and regret…” The woman wailed, her cries echoing in the large, empty room. “I am a mother… weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save.”

The spirit disappeared.

Everil attempted to understand what occurred, and it dawned on her. “Maker… That was Andraste's mother…” She glanced at the others. “These are all people from Andraste's life.”

Now understanding her task, Everil stepped towards the next, mind focused. She needed to solve every riddle without fail, else they would keep the urn from her. Her feet came to a stop before another woman. A youthful girl wearing a peasant’s dress, with red hair tied in pigtails. "What have you, spirit?" Everil asked.

The woman smiled a little at her, then spoke in a soft tone. “The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?”

The Warden crossed her arms and looked to the floor.  _ A lark… a bird can carry it… a man might not?  _ She gazed up at her. “A tune?” 

The spirit's smile broadened. “Yes. I am Ealisay, Andraste's dearest friend in childhood. We always would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she sang no more of simple things.”

Then, she disappeared as the one before. 

Everil moved on, coming to stand before a man in Chantry robes, his youthful features filled with hope. “What have you, spirit?”

The man looked at her with a wide grin. “No man has seen it but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing but would fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”

_ What could fall armies… other than the enemy? Resources…?  _ Everil attempted to solve the riddle, tapping her chin. “Hmm… Hunger?”

“Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth,” he spoke with pride, a hand pressed to his chest. “I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies. I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us.”

Everil wasted no time, going straight to the following riddle. This one was an elf, dressed in hard leathers and with a bald head, Dalish tattoos over his face. He had a rugged appearance but carried a smile nonetheless.

“Wha have you for me, spirit?”

He focused on her. “I'm neither a guest nor a trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs also to me.”

“Home…” she answered with a weak smile.

The spirit dipped his head. “I am Thane Shartan, leader of Andraste's elven forces. It was my dream for my people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste against the Tevinter Imperium.” A sad look then crossed his face. “But... she was betrayed, and so were we.”

“I remember that…” she told herself, feeling for the great warrior who died trying to save the prophetess from the pyre. With a soft sigh, she moved on to the next spirit.

A human in plate armor stood before her. He had a long grey beard and hair, hardened eyes hinted with regret.

She licked her lips and raised her chin at him. “What have you, spirit?”

The man's rueful gaze narrowed on her. “A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?”

This one took her a moment longer as he waited patiently for her response. She pursed her lips in concentration, repeating the riddle in her head until the pieces clicked into place. “Jealousy…?”

To her relief, he nodded. “Yes. I am Maferath, the once husband to Andraste. Jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarri, but beside Her I was nothing. Hundreds fell before Her on bended knee. They loved Her, as did the Maker.” He paused, shame causing him to look away from her. “I loved her too… but what man can compare with a god?”

She watched him disappear, unsure of whether to feel sympathetic or saddened for him. This had been Andraste's husband, the man she'd trusted more than anyone except for the Maker Himself. And yet, he had succumbed to one of man's greatest flaws when forced to compete with something greater than himself. 

The following spirit had elaborate robes. He had a sword strapped to his hip, his hand resting on its hilt. Everil gazed up at him, already knowing who he was. “Archon Hassarian…”

His sharp stare bore into her. “She wields the broken sword and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?”

A corner of her lips went up. “Mercy…”

Hassarian nodded. “I was the one who burned Andraste at the stake. I could not bear the sight of Her suffering, and mercy bade me I end her life. I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him.”

The Warden watched him vanish, awed by having seen what the founder of the Andrastian religion looked like outside of old paintings.

The next was a woman, dressed in the Imperium's robes. This one glared at her with searing hatred, causing her to stare back uncomfortably. Everil spoke hesitantly, “All right… What's your riddle?”

The woman's words dripped with venom. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?”

“Vengeance, of course…”

“I am Lady Vasilia, wife to Archon Hasarian, the man who delivered our enemy a merciful death she did not deserve. I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood.”

After the woman faded, Everil's steps carried her to the last spirit, a bald man in Chantry robes. She gazed up at him, folding her arms. “What have you for me, spirit?”

He calmly stared at her, his tone soothing, yet hinted with grief. “The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?”

_ Bones of the world to the sky… White veil…  _ She repeated in her mind, eyebrows pinched. Then, she answered confidently, “The mountains.”

The spirit smiled. “I am Havard, first disciple of Andraste. I carried Her ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains to the east where She could gaze forever into Her Maker's sky... No more fitting a tomb than this could we find.”

Everil smiled in return as he disappeared, admiring his loyalty to her.  _ He brought Her here… even after her death, he never stopped serving her. _

The sound of a door's lock coming undone echoed within the chamber. She looked towards it with determination. She went to it and entered another room, this one with a wall of flames burning inside. Everil looked up.

The urn sat on a pedestal, just past the blaze.

“There She is…!" she breathed, her face brightening with excitement. But her expression turned to puzzlement when she looked at the fire. “But how do I get past this?”

_ “This is your last test. The test of faith.” _ The knight at The Gauntlet's entrance spoke inside her mind.  _ “You must rid yourself of all earthly possessions and walk bare through the flames. Only then, will you prove yourself worthy of Andraste’s grace.” _

She anxiously wore her bottom lip. So the next task was to walk naked through a wall of fire without fear of burning? Easier said than done. But there was no time and no other options. She had to get it right and get to the ashes, no matter what. Without further doubt, Everil stripped, dropping every piece of equipment, including her Grey Warden pendant and the clip that held her hair up.

With a confident nod to herself, Everil closed her eyes and stepped closer to the fire. She drew in a breath and slowly breathed out, knowing failure would lead to burning alive. But she wouldn't allow it. She believed well enough in Andraste, especially now after having learned how much truth there was in the Chantry's tales about her life. 

She stepped through, warmth traveling over her bare skin like soft silk, only to dissipate as soon as it came. Releasing a soft sigh, Everil opened her eyes and spun to glance back at the flames. They faded, dissipating as if by magic.

_ “You have passed the test of faith.”  _

Everil whirled about to see the knight smiling gently, materializing by the stairs leading up to the pedestal. “You may take a pinch of the ashes,” he told her solemnly and bowed his head to her. “May our lady and the Maker himself watch over you during your travels… Grey Warden.”

And he was gone before her eyes, leaving her standing bare and alone inside the chamber. Her gaze shifted to the golden urn, lips parted in wonder as it glimmered under ethereal beams of pure light filtering from the ceiling. A smile formed on her lips and she padded her way to her gear, seeking the pouch they'd brought with them from Redcliffe castle.


	4. Comfort in Your Arms

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he stars sparkled as the moon _ cast its light over Haven. Their party had arrived from the temple just as night fell, leaving them with the decision of either spending the night amongst the dead or risk travel in the dark. To Everil, the obvious choice was to spend the night, knowing it would be too dangerous to venture down the perilous slopes covered in ice, blind, and in freezing temperatures. 

So she placed Shale and Sten on cleanup duty, instructing them to put to rest the misguided men, women, and children that had so absurdly given up their lives for a lie born in ignorance and deceit. Everil didn't know where they'd wheeled the corpses and didn't care. But the smell of sulfur in the shifting breeze told her they were burning them somewhere out in the woods. Sitting by their campfire, she shook her head and stared at the pot of bubbling stew cooking over it, angry at having been forced to kill so many. She only hoped that it would all be worth it. That the ashes now in their possession would cure the ailing arl and, in the process, help lift some of her remorse. 

_ Guilt…  _ Her father’s appearance drifted into her mind. His visit, however false it may have possibly been, brought a familiar sting. It hurt far worse when she most needed her father's advice or her mother's comforting arms, such as now, as she battled with her conscience. Would they agree with what she did? Would they have done things differently? 

“They are so cute…”

Everil's head snapped in Leliana's direction, so lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice her approach. “What…?”

“Nugs! These adorable pig-rabbit looking creatures…” The former nun guiltily showed her the dead animal hanging from her arm. “They look so adorable and innocent… I wish we didn't have to eat them. Did you know they make wonderful pets? I think one day I would like to own a nug farm. Not to eat, of course, but to cuddle them anytime I want…” 

Leliana knelt by the fire, glancing up at her after receiving no response. She saw her hauntingly staring at the flames. “Evy?”

The Warden seemed to refocus before shifting back to her. “Y-Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I… I'm fine…” Everil rubbed her face with both hands, sighing wearily. “I think… I think I just need some time alone.” She smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Can you watch Bjorn for me?”

Leliana blinked but nodded. “Sure…”

The hound whined up at his mistress as they both watched her head past the village huts and to the edge of the woods. Leliana sighed and shook her head, pulling a knife from her belt. She’d seen that look before, mostly on herself when she’d look in the mirror before her days in the Chantry’s sanctuary. And she had a feeling it had something to do with their visit to the temple. 

Moments of silence followed as she cleaned the nug, scraping off fur from its pink skin. After she was done with the outside, she put the knife to its gut, muttering an apology. The Warden’s hound observed her, resting his head on his paws.

“Aww… We’re having nug?”

Leliana gazed up at Alistair, who was walking over to drop the pile of wood he’d collected by the fire. He gave the dead animal a sympathetic look. “But they’re so cute!”

“I know, right?” She let out a chuckle, then returned to skinning their meal, her expression turning serious. “Hey, Alistair…”

“Yeah?”

“Uhm… I think Evy isn't feeling too well…”

“What do you mean?” A frown creased his brow and he looked around, searching for her. “Where is she?”

“A while ago, she said she needed some time alone and went towards the creek. She hasn’t returned… and she seemed... so distraught.” She glanced up at him. “Perhaps you should go check on her? Something’s wrong but she won’t say anything to me.”

“All right…” He patted her shoulder. “Thanks for telling me Leliana.”

She smiled. “Of course…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A soft sigh escaped Everil as she sat over a patch of grass, beside a small fire she'd hastily put together. She held her cloak around her body while admiring the glittering waters as they flowed and rolled over the rocks, carrying small chunks of ice that glimmered like tiny diamonds. The popping of the flames and the sound of the creek filled the silence, yet despite the calming melody her demons still waged war within her. It wasn’t the first time someone—or something—had used her family’s memory against her, but somehow this felt different.

She was trying to heed her father's words. To forgive herself for failing them. But such a mistake was not one that could be forgotten overnight, no matter how hard she tried. 

Something wet prompted her to touch her cheek, and she realized she'd been crying. “No…” She furiously rubbed the tears away. “Not yet, damn it…!”

“Everil?”

She whipped her head around in surprise, seeing Alistair stepping out of the woods and into the clearing. “H-Hey…" she breathed, turning away to quickly rub her face. "H-How did you find me?”

“Leliana told me which way you went. She was worried about you.” He made his way to her, his boots crunching over the frozen snow. He took a seat next to her. “And so am I… You haven’t said much since we returned from the temple.”

“Oh… I’m sorry I worried you…” she muttered guiltily.

“You don't have to apologize...” She felt his arm wrap around her shoulders before he carefully drew her to him, resting his chin atop her head. “I just want to be there for you when you need me.”

That simple action, along with his caring words, instantly cracked her shields, making it more difficult to hold back her grief. But she desperately patched up the holes, fighting to keep her emotions in check, no matter how much it hurt.

A brief quiet came as he gently stroked her hair, which only made his concern grow. She was usually open with him when it came to her troubles, but it seemed this time he had to ask. “Did something happen?” 

She swallowed the thick knot in her throat, then lightly shook her head. “I just… I felt a bit overwhelmed is all... All the people we killed...”

He sighed, his own voice hinted with regret. “We were only defending ourselves…” 

“But an entire village is now gone because of us…”

“These people weren’t innocents. They were dangerous.” Alistair gazed down at her as he spoke. “Who knows how many they killed simply because they stumbled into this place?”

“Even the children...?” Everil whispered weakly.

“Don’t,” he sharply said, a little forceful. “You’re only torturing yourself. We did what we could.”

She took a deep breath.

There was another brief pause, the silence stretching around them as she let him hold her tight. Everil listened to his breathing, basking in the warmth of his body and his touch as he continued to run gloved fingers through her hair. “There was... something more…” she said, so quietly he barely heard her.

Alistair withdrew to peer over her features. “What is it?”

“There was this… strange place on the way to the Ashes.” She looked away from him and towards the creek. “I… I saw my father there.”

“I see... but… how?”

“To get to the Urn, I was supposed to pass a series of trials. I guess….” She knitted her eyebrows. “I guess he was meant to make me face my past and accept it. But it hurt… It hurt very much to see him again.” A humorless chuckle escaped her as she held her head, smiling bitterly as the last drop overflowed the glass in her sanity. “I don’t even know if that thing was really my father… For all I know, he was nothing but an illusion born out of my own regret. Or a phantom made to make me remember just how much of a failure I am for not saving them. ”

“No...” He took her hand and held it between his own, confidently gazing into her azure pools. “None of that was your fault. Not your family’s fate and not the fate of these villagers.”

“They were my choices, Alistair. And it seems that all of my decisions end up taking lives or hurting others.” She bit her lip in anguish, fighting back tears once more. “I almost killed Connor out of anger and desperation. Then Branka had to die… I took a Paragon away from the dwarven people... I am a horrible person… A terrible person.”

“Hey, hey…” Alistair gently cupped her cheek. “That’s not true… None of that is true. You fought your way through hordes of demons to save Connor. You saved hundreds, if not thousands of dwarven lives by destroying that Anvil rather than letting Branka have it. And even after what happened, you protected her legacy and gave the dwarves hope under a new king.” His tone climbed, devoid of doubt. “So stop beating yourself over things you had no control over and look at all the good you’ve done.” 

Everil could only stare and listen, his words, slowly but surely, pulling her out of the deep chasm she’d fallen into. He was right. Despite it all, she’d done her best to do the right thing. So she reigned in her emotions, breathing out a sigh while staring down at their joined hands. There were demons still battling within her, but she would conquer them. She had to.

“Thank you…” she whispered, bringing her arms about his torso and leaning against him. “Thank you for reminding me…”

“You’re welcome…" he murmured into her dark tresses. “So you’re feeling better?”

“Yes…” She pulled back to offer him a tiny smile. “I’m sorry for having fallen apart like that…”

“Don’t be… You of all people know I’m the master at feeling sorry for yourself.” He chuckled lightly while stroking her back. “Just breathe and take your time. You’ll get back on your feet soon.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, she released a soft breath and allowed herself to relax. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the flow of the water as they watched the moonlight play over its surface. The fire popped beside them, its sparks floating into the night. And suddenly, it felt as if they were out traveling alone, without the background noise and curious stares of their companions. 

She didn't want it to end.

“Should we... head back to camp now?” he finally asked.

“I don't know…” Everil gazed lovingly up at him. “I enjoy being with you like this…”

“So do I…” Gently, he caressed her scarred cheek, his thumb tracing her mark as he leaned closer. His lips pressed against hers in a gentle kiss, her face growing warm despite the chilling breeze. 

She smiled lightly. “One more kiss...?”

And he complied, kissing her once more, lingering a little longer.

“Another…” she breathed.

He chortled as he kissed her again. And this time, she placed her hand to his cheek and parted his mouth, deepening the kiss as he released a pleased sigh. Their tongues slowly twirled around each other, exploring and tasting one another as they danced in a passionate waltz. Her pulse quickened as she lost herself in him before he carefully lowered them to the grass.

Breathlessly, Alistair broke from the kiss and brought one hand up to her hair. His thumb tenderly caressed her temple, their noses almost touching. His eyes traced her features as if she were the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. “I love you...” he whispered, so softly yet loud enough for her heart to skip happily at the three words she so liked to hear. 

Yes. This man was all she had now.

But he was all she needed.

She tenderly cupped his cheek. “I love you too…”

A breath escaped his lips as they brushed over her own, and then he kissed her again, pouring his yearning into her as a soft moan left her. Everil fingers laced through his hair before he strayed from her mouth, sprinkling hot kisses down to the soft skin of her neck. He unclasped her cloak, moving it out of his way. With a quiet moan, she rolled her head to the side, allowing him better access to her throat as his warm breath sent shivers down her spine. 

Everil then heard one of her breastplate buckles come undone, and then another, his desire for her causing her to bite her lip in anticipation. “What if… What if the others come…?”

“Then they’ll get a show…” he replied huskily, causing a tingling sensation between her legs.

She laughed a bit, flushing at his words.

Alistair undid the belt around her weapons, tossing them aside. He rid himself of his gauntlets, then helped her sit up to slide her breastplate up over her head before working on her vest. Meanwhile, she also discarded her gloves and shifted to his armor, her delicate fingers removing the straps with ease as his lips once again graced hers. When her first task was done, he helped with the heavy plates, then the pauldrons, setting them aside. His mouth then sought hers once more as she undid the straps on his gambeson.

A moan left her as he nibbled on her bottom lip, struggling to focus on undressing him. Her body begged for him, and she whimpered in frustration at layers of clothing still separating them. He seemed to think the same, as he impatiently loosened her armor, tearing at the leather straps until there were none left. She let him slide her coat over her shoulders and off her body, leaving her with only her white tunic beneath. He then helped her undo his, and in moments they were tossing it aside as if it were nothing but a nuisance. 

Alistair then lowered her back onto the fabric of her cloak, her hair spreading over the ground before he knelt over her, one leg between her thighs. He promptly pulled up the front of her shirt and untied the knot holding her bra in place, exposing her creamy, enticing bosom. His lustful stare trailed over them for a brief moment as she shivered, admiring her hardened nipples as the light of their fire glowed against her skin. 

He leaned down to kiss and nuzzle between her breasts, drawing a shuddering breath out of her. He then found his way to one of her mounds, steadily climbing over it to reach the top. His hot mouth claimed the rosy peak, the sudden heat causing her to whimper. Alistair suckled, his tongue caressing the tender tip while he fondled her other breast, the electrifying sensations making her groan and arch her back to him. Hearing her urged him to suckle harder, his teeth grazing her flesh as he gazed up at her through half-lidded eyes. 

Anxiously licking her lips, Everil watched him deliberately run his tongue around the rosy bud, circling it and then flicking it as she whined in response. His calloused hand massaged and kneaded the other mound, then his fingers found the peak, pinching it and gently twisting. She mewled and squirmed beneath him, the longing between her legs letting itself known as her loins grew moist for him. 

The cold seemed nonexistent, her body's temperature rising as she panted for breath. “Oh, darling…”

His eyes remained focused on her as he continued to lick and suckle, and then she felt his touch slide down her stomach, searching for the string on her leggings. He pulled the cord loose almost forcefully, then shoved down her trousers and underwear, just enough for the chilled air to grace her hips. A shudder rocked her body while his wandering hand slid further down and into the opening he'd created.

“Ah…!” Everil gasped when he palmed her sex, her core reacting with an impatient throb. Then long fingers slid between her slick petals, coating themselves in her nectar as she quivered and whined helplessly. 

“Hmm… so wet already…” he whispered gruffly before his mouth enveloped her nipple, a sound akin to a purr rumbling from deep within his throat. Then his middle finger entered her, earning him another gasp. 

And a series of moans followed when he began to pump his digit in and out of her aching depths, producing wet noises that joined in with the sound of him suckling on her breast. “Maker…!” she breathed, her legs parting to give him more room. Her hips bucked instinctively at the rhythm of his finger's long, deep thrusts, jolts of pleasure casting her thoughts into a fog. She wanted more. So much more.

Sensing her need, he nibbled on her peak and slid in a second finger, stretching her further as she cried out. He pumped faster, rougher, his palm slapping against her clit as she threw her head back and squealed. Gasping and panting for breath, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, trying to hold on to whatever shred of reality she had left as her world began to crumble. “Alistair… If you keep going like this… I…” she whined through intakes of air as each thrust drove her ever closer to a quick, mind-shattering end.

He released her now raw breast and gazed up at her, seeing her flushed face and parted lips, the sight causing his manhood to pulse with need. But this time he wanted to do something more for her, to pleasure her and only her. “It's all right, love…" he urged her, his voice heavy with desire. “Let go and come for me…”

And as if he’d willed it, she climaxed with a wail, squealing and whimpering as her entire body tensed and convulsed. Her throbbing walls gripped at his fingers as he kept lunging them into her, the moisture quickly soaking his palm and dripping into her underwear. She groaned weakly as the waves turned into ripples, leaving her numb all over as she stared at his satisfied smile.

“W-Why…?” Everil whispered shakily.

“Because I wanted to…”

Concern crinkled her forehead. “But… What about you…?’

Alistair chuckled breathlessly, withdrawing soaked fingers from her folds. Peering hungrily into her blue pools, he brought them up to his mouth and sucked on them with a hum, the sight causing her eyes to grow wide. “Whoever said we were done...?”

“Oh…” She licked her lips at his words, the promise behind them causing her core to stir despite her dazed state.

Everil then saw him sit back and work on taking off her boots, her sigh straying to the prominent bulge protruding from his trousers. He easily removed them, setting them aside before reaching for her leggings. With an expectant stare, he promptly slid them and her underwear down, then up her legs, exposing more of her to the cold.

His pulse racing, Alistair gazed upon her, her musky scent reaching his nose. Her petals shimmered under the moonlight, enticing him to touch them as his member pulsed excitedly inside its prison. He gulped and released a heavy breath, going for the cord on his trousers.

The fire next to them offered some warmth, yet she shivered. Whether it was from the weather or from the way he was looking at her, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the passion etched over his features was nearly as searing as the crackling flames illuminating their small clearing.

“Alistair…” she pleaded, quivering again.

“Don’t worry, love. I will warm you up in a moment...” He undid his pants, untying them, and finally freeing his erection. Once done, he reached for his cloak, picking it up off the ground. “Open your legs for me…”

Shakily, she obeyed, feeling a fluttering sensation in her womb as he lowered himself over her. He used his cloak as a makeshift blanket to cover their lower half while he lay on top of her, his body heat spreading over her. Everil’s arms wrapped around his neck as his lips met hers in a soft kiss laced with desire. “Better…?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes…” 

“Good…” He kissed her again, then her cheek, brushing over her skin as the head of his engorged member pressed on her entrance. And he heard her mewl when he gradually penetrated her, stretching her until he was completely buried within her. He released a deep moan, kissing the side of her face, their chests pressed together as he began to deliberately draw back, then slide back in. Slow and steady and deep, enjoying the sensation of her still soaked walls brushing along every inch of his length.

She whined weakly, the gradual, wet friction rekindling the pleasure resonating from her center. Trembling fingers laced through his hair as he kissed his way down her cheek, stopping by her ear. His breath grazed her earlobe and he groaned as he lunged inwards, causing goosebumps to rise all over her body. “Alistair…?” she gasped.

“Yes…”

“Kiss me…” 

At her command, his mouth ascended, seeking hers. He hummed into the kiss as he continued to drag within her depths. He suckled on her bottom lip, then nibbled as she gasped, their tongues engaged in a sensual battle for dominance. One hand glided down her body, exploring her curves before gently caressing her thigh. His touch was feather-light tenderness, his thrusts so patient and delicious, his kisses so filled with emotion.

_ By Andraste, how I love him…  _

Soon the cold was no more, replaced by blistering heat as she focused on the way his manhood rubbed against her moist cave, on how the tip touched the deepest part of her each time. She moaned into his mouth as her hands slid down to his torso and around his strong back, feeling his hard muscles under the fabric of his shirt. Her body craved more of that sweet sensation he caused, to feel more of him touching her deepest parts.

So she rocked her hips upwards to meet his in a pleading, agonizing rhythm, her sex gripping him tighter. He broke away from the kiss and released a guttural groan, huffing as he ground against her pelvis with each inward plunge. A panting Everil whimpered as they kept moving, synched as if they were one, the pleasure shooting through her in waves each time their hips met. 

Alistair kissed her temple, then moved faster, the slight change increasing the sensations coming from where they joined. He moaned along with her while she adjusted her movements to match his, both sweating despite the snow and ice glistening around them. Every time their groins ground together pushed her body upwards, his member repeatedly pressing her most sensitive spot in a mind-bending loop that threatened her sanity. 

“Ah… Please don’t stop…” she whined, grabbing onto him as if he were her lifeline.

“Does it feel good, my love…?” he breathed into her ear.

“Yes…” she mewled in ecstasy. "Oh, Maker, yes…” 

The waves of pleasure were becoming too much, rising like a growing tide every time his length dragged along her. He huffed and grunted as his fingers lightly dug into the flesh of her thigh, the pressure building up within him as electrifying jolts flowed along his shaft. Her soft moans and gasps and whimpers were like the gentle song of a siren, luring him closer towards a great, turbulent sea. And he gladly let her take him, plunging over the cliff and into the waters with her.

Everil moaned loudly as she fell with him, hearing his long, drawn-out groan as he filled her with his seed. Her body trembled and jolted beneath him as her sex throbbed and pulsed for the second time that night, drinking every drop of him. She nuzzled his neck, whimpering and panting for breath as he sprinkled breathless kisses along her cheek and on her sweat-streaked temple, his thrusts slowing down.

Exhausted and blissfully numb, she held him tightly to her, taking in his scent as they rode their climax together. A brief silence followed, filled only by their heaving and the burning coals nearby. Then her words came as a quiet plea, riddled with an intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “Never leave me…”

Slightly surprised, Alistair propped himself up on his elbow and looked into her eyes. A loving smile spread over his face, his fingers coming to brush her tousled bangs. He tenderly kissed her, then leaned his forehead against hers. “I wouldn’t dream of it…”

Relief washed over her at his response, and the two of them held each other, his caress and his kisses putting her worries to sleep.

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Had yourselves some fun, huh?” Oghren teased with a snicker as they watched the two Wardens make their way back to camp. Alistair awkwardly scratched the back of his head while Everil shot the dwarf an annoyed look, the pair reaching the party’s campfire, where everyone had gathered to eat their meal. 

He let out a gruff chuckle. “You know Warden, any other time I would back up under that stare of yours, but it's hard to take you seriously when you have stuff stuck to your hair.”

“What…?” She quickly reached up to touch her locks, cheeks flaring.

“Maybe we should have just spent the night out in the woods…” Alistair grumbled irritably as he gently plucked a twig from her hair.

“Oh, leave them alone,” Leliana scolded as she set down her bowl and smiled up at her. “Here, Evy. I can help fix your hair.”

Reluctantly releasing Alistair’s hand, Everil strode over to the nun, then sat with her back facing her. Leliana unclipped the top half of her dark tresses and detangled them with her fingers, removing more debris that had stuck to her from having laid her head on the ground. The Warden glared stubbornly at a far corner of the woods, doing her best to hide her flaring face from the others. If only it hadn't been so dark, Alistair may have been able to warn her.

Said man scratched the back of his head again, a hint of color also on his cheeks as he took a seat on the only other open spot—right next to the dwarf.

“So you and the boss were bumping uglies…” Oghren uttered with a perverted grin. “How come you don’t get tangled up between those long legs? Do you just move them out of the way and go on about your business?”

“Ugh…” Alistair groaned before glaring at him. “What kind of question is that?”

“No need to be shy, son.” Oghren laughed again and then took a swig from his canteen before wiping his mouth. “Just askin’ in case I get lucky with one of your human ladies here on the surface. Women always want some of old Oghren.”

“Now, that would be an interesting sight…” Zevran commented with an amused smile, setting down his spoon.

The dwarf belched loudly, startling everyone in the camp.

“On second thought…” Zevran put on a disgusted look. “No. I don't think I'd want to see that.” 

“How in the Maker’s name are you getting drunk again? Are we even carrying that much booze with us?” Alistair asked Oghren, trying to drive the attention away from Everil and himself while also curious about the dwarf’s seemingly endless supply of ale.

Oghren smirked, wobbling as he spoke. “What? You jealous ‘cus you can’t be drunk like me?”

“No, I'm actually seriously wondering how you manage to stay drunk  _ all  _ the time.”

He let out a gruff chuckle. “Lots of discipline… and marriage.”

“Marriage?” Alistair frowned in puzzlement. “Was Branka really that bad?” 

The dwarf took another drink from his canteen, then gazed moodily at the male Warden. “You ever been married, boy?”

“Uhm, no… I was actually in a chantry for most of my life.” 

Oghren leaned in, the stench of ale making Alistair curl his nose as the dwarf spoke under his breath. “Don't ever do it. Marriage is for fools.”

“I don't know… I don't think it would be so bad if you find the right person,” Alistair whispered in return, glancing at his fellow Warden from the other side of the fire. She was still looking towards the edge of the village, the light of the flames illuminating her profile as Leliana continued to work on her hair. She had her chin lifted stubbornly, her pride in full display, a different image from the wakened woman she allowed him to see a few times before.

And he loved her. All of her.

Seeing the look he was giving her, Oghren sighed and pityingly shook his head. “Well, don't say I didn't warn ya..”


	5. An Arl's Awakening

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ I _ _ t took a little over a week of travel _ for them to reach Redcliffe. Lake Calenhad glistened in the distance as the afternoon sun shone high in the sky, the scent of burning wood reaching their noses as plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys in the small huts along the shoreline. Their horses were crossing the bridge that led into the village when soldiers came to greet them, escorting them the rest of the way towards the castle while Bann Teagan waited by the gates with four servants. The Wardens dismounted first and approached the bann as the others climbed off their mounts and began to grab their gear.

“Welcome back... everyone,” Teagan greeted them, spotting Oghren on one horse and Shale staring stoically back at him.“New additions, I see. And you brought a golem?”

Everil nodded. “Yes. We picked up some extra help along the way. The dwarf’s name is Oghren, an able warrior from Orzammar. He helped get us dwarven support against the Blight. And Shale is also here to join the cause—by her own choice, mind you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Choice? I thought all golems didn’t have free will.”

“This one does,” Shale said from behind the Wardens, already irritated.

Alistair folded his arms with a slight smirk. “Yeah, I would tell the castle staff to keep their hands to themselves. Shale’s not a curiosity, she’s one of us.”

Shale gazed at him, a little surprised by his words. “That is… appreciated.”

“I see… well noted.” Teagan smiled a little. “That you managed to assemble such a party of fighters is both telling and commendable. Well done, both of you.”

“How’s Arl Eamon fairing?” Alistair asked with concern. “Did anything change while we were gone?”

Teagan sighed and shook his head. “I am afraid he remains as he was before you left. Were you successful in retrieving the ashes?”

“We were,” Everil replied, patting her side pouch meaningfully.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” His face lit up with hope, his hand coming to rest on Alistair’s shoulder. “Come. We should test them immediately.” He turned to the servants standing by, his commands urgent. “Help the Grey Wardens with their things and bring them to the guest rooms.”

“Yes, my lord,” a man responded.

The servants did as they were told. Soldiers took the horses to the stables after the group removed their gear from their backs. The Wardens followed the bann inside, their friends walking closely behind them. 

Oghren whistled as they crossed the halls, admiring the rustic decor. “This is someone important’s place, I take it?” 

“Yes. Arl Eamon is the late King Cailan’s uncle and one of the most influential lords in Ferelden,” Leliana answered for him, giving him a curious stare. “I thought we told you about this already?”

He let out a gruff laugh. “Must’ve been too drunk to listen…”

They paused upon entering the guest wing and Everil sternly addressed their party of misfits. “Alistair and I will be in the arl’s chambers with Bann Teagan. The rest of you can explore the village or stay here until we call for you. Just try not to cause any trouble. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, yeah…” the dwarf grumbled, waving her off. “You sound like my mother.”

“Good. Because I am mostly talking to you, Oghren.” Everil spun about to continue through the rest of the corridor, her fellow Warden walking beside her. 

“Hey, pretty boy. Is there a tavern in this sodded village?” he asked Zevran, who was standing beside him with arms crossed. 

The elf chuckled. “There is, yes. Would you like to check it out?”

“Why’d you think I asked? C’mon, partner.” He punched his arm and they both headed back the way they came. 

Leliana sighed at their retreating backs, shaking her head. “Why do I get the feeling that Evy’s words just went in one ear and out the other for those two?”

Wynne chuckled. “Because that is exactly what happened...”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Grey Wardens strode through the family’s quarters, the silence deafening despite the sound of their boots over the stone floor. Teagan and Everil were doing well at hiding their anxiety, while Alistair’s worsened the closer they got to the arl’s room. His chest tightened with worry as multiple scenarios played out in his tired mind. What if the ashes don't work? What if they do? How would he even begin a conversation with the arl, now, after so many years?

Arl Eamon had raised him for ten years—another man’s bastard son—as if he’d been his own. Not once had he complained or made him feel unwelcome, even after his wife forced him to cast him out. The arl had still made time to visit him as frequently as he could, to see if he was all right and to show him he still cared. Yet he’d begrudged him for sending him away. In anger, he had ungratefully thrown the man’s efforts back at his face, disrespecting and rejecting the one person who gave him everything when he’d possessed nothing.

Now, after many years of guilt, he would have the opportunity to set things right. To apologize for his insolence and to thank him for all he did for him when anyone else would have abandoned him.  _ Provided the ashes work… _ A troubled sigh escaped him, his forehead creasing. 

A hand on his arm drew his attention, his gaze landing on Everil’s loving smile as the tension in his heart seemed to fade. It was surprising how well they knew each other now. Well enough for her to tell how he felt without even having to ask, her eyes wordlessly telling him he wasn't dealing with the situation alone. He couldn’t help but smile back, a little relieved at having her with him, while also realizing he hadn’t shared such a bond with anyone else before. Not even Duncan.

When they entered the room, Isolde and the castle’s healer craned their heads to them, having been engaged in conversation prior to their arrival. The arlessa brightened at the sight of them and rushed up to them, fingers laced and exhaustion clear on her posture. “Alistair, please tell me you were successful,” she nearly pleaded.

Everil’s features softened at her desperation. It had been weeks since they’d left Redcliffe to seek the dwarves and Andraste’s ashes. Maker knew this woman was probably worried sick the entire time. Sitting by her husband’s side, thinking constantly about whether they would find the only thing that could possibly save his life. And despite having disliked her at first, she could sympathize.

“Here…” She reached into her side pack, producing a small pouch. She stepped closer to Isolde and gently unlaced her trembling hands, turning one over to place it on her palm. “We found them.”

“Maker…” Isolde gazed down at the precious item, her tears welling up.

Alistair smiled lightly, folding his arms. “Maybe Andraste herself can bring him back...”

Isolde turned a grateful stare to him as a tear slid down her cheek. She turned to Vellore, who approached them while wiping both hands on her apron. “Allow me, my lady.” The healer carefully took the pouch, nodding at the Wardens before moving to a nearby table. 

After mixing the ashes with warm water, she went to the bed, where Eamon still lay motionless. Isolde followed her, clasping her hands against her chest as she watched her carefully pour the liquid into his mouth. Meanwhile, Teagan stood still as a statue, anxiously waiting for his brother to wake.

Several agonizing minutes passed, then a single finger twitched.

Isolde’s tearful gaze widened and Vellore stepped back, allowing her to get closer to her husband. Blue eyes then slowly cracked open and she gasped as more tears streamed down her face. He weakly looked at her, his vision gradually clearing as it traced her features.

“Still… as beautiful as I remember...” Eamon uttered hoarsely, a corner of his lip going up. 

“Andraste’s mercy!” Isolde fell on her knees and took his hand in hers, happily kissing his pale fingers. 

Teagan released the breath he’d been holding and chuckled, bowing his head with a hand at his hip and the other over his face to hide tears of joy. “Thank the Maker...”

After a moment, Eamon recalled his dream and his smile faltered. “Where is… Connor?”

“He is…” His wife swallowed, her excitement dissipating as the grip on his hand tightened. “He is… well. He has been waiting eagerly for you to wake up.”

A cough suddenly rocked him and he winced, his body sore, and his throat dry from lack of use. 

“Darling...” Isolde called worriedly.

Offering her a reassuring smile, he gently patted her hand and gulped, trying to moisten his vocal cords before speaking. “Don’t worry, my love... I am fine now. Though I… thought I would not be for a moment there.” His kind stare then traveled past her to their healer. “You have my deepest thanks, Vellore.”

Vellore shook her head. “No, my lord. It was not I who saved you.”

He frowned in puzzlement. “Then who…?”

Teagan neared his bed, motioning to the door. “The Grey Wardens did, Brother. And one of them specifically...”

“Teagan,” Eamon acknowledged him and slowly sat up to regard the two Wardens.

A deeply relieved, and yet nervous, Alistair hesitated under the man’s wise stare, unable to move nor speak while somehow feeling as if he were a child again. Then someone gently pushed him forward, urging him on. He glanced back to Everil’s wide grin before she pointedly tilted her head towards the arl and folded her arms. 

He nodded with a bit more confidence and then faced Eamon, taking a few steps to him. “It’s… been a while… Arl Eamon.”

Still dazed from his long sleep, the arl squinted, trying to recognize him. The faces of King Maric and his son Cailan came to mind as he put the pieces together, searching through his memories. And realization dawned on him, eyebrows lifting in shock and his mouth opening in awe. “Alistair? Is that… you?”

Alistair nodded and anxiously scratched the back of his head. “Yep… It’s me.”

“Maker’s mercy… look at you…” Eamon breathed out in wonder before a wide smile spread over his chapped lips. “How long has it been? Too long, it seems... You have grown into a man.”

“Yes…” The Warden answered sheepishly. “You could say I did... mostly.” 

“But… I thought you were still in the monastery… You’re a Grey Warden now?”

“I was in the monastery, yes. But I was recruited into the Grey Wardens… almost a year ago now. Maybe more?” He let out a breath, unsure of how much time had passed since everything began. “It’s a… very long story.”

“Much has happened while you were asleep, my husband,” Isolde uttered quietly, hanging her head.

“Perhaps we should leave you to talk,” Everil suggested, placing a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

“As should I,” said the healer, dipping her head. “I will return later to check on you, my lord.”

“I appreciate it, Vellore," Eamon responded as the woman left the room.

Teagan then smiled at the Wardens. “Thank you both for all your help. Please make yourselves comfortable, as before. We will explain everything that’s happened to Eamon… from the beginning. Then we shall meet with you when he’s ready.”

Everil nodded and turned to leave while Alistair made to follow.

“Alistair.”

He stopped mid-step, then gazed towards the arl. “Yes, my lord?”

Eamon was smiling at him, looking at him with the same care and kindness he’d held for him so many years ago. “It’s good to have you back, lad...”

Those words took him by surprise, and for a moment, he couldn’t respond. “Uhm… I…” he stammered, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of relief upon being welcomed back into his life. Taking in a breath, he bowed his head, a fist over his chest in a gesture of respect. “Thank you, Arl Eamon…”

He and Everil stepped out, closing the door behind them and leaving the family in privacy. Their conversation would undoubtedly be a difficult one.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“This ale tastes like piss,” Oghren grumbled, staring at the now empty pint in his hand.

“Does that mean it’s bad? Because you’ve been drinking it since before I got here,” Alistair said with a confused expression.

“I might just need some more…” The dwarf lifted a hand to order another round. “Where’s your woman, anyway?” Oghren asked as the barmaid placed the ale on their table. “I thought you two were joined at the hip.”

Alistair inwardly smiled at how strange, yet how right the dwarf’s question sounded. “Everil’s at the market. Probably got held up bargaining for something... She’s pretty good at that,” he responded before taking a drink himself. The ale was of course far too weak to do anything to his cognitive functions, but he still enjoyed the flavor every once in a while. 

After leaving the arl’s room, he and Everil joined the rest of their group, agreeing to take a trip to the village for both supplies and some needed distractions. The women and the hound went with her, while she’d sent him and Sten to check on Oghren and Zevran. Now, they were sitting with the pair after the dwarf coaxed them into staying. 

Sten, on the other hand, hadn’t really had a choice. Apparently the qunari enjoyed exploring villages with strange Fereldan customs, so he agreed to come along to observe. But although this wasn’t his first visit, the townsfolk were still giving him nervous looks. This meant that heading back to the castle on his own would’ve probably been a terrible idea.

“I half expected she’d be the one walking right behind you when you pranced in—” Oghren let out a rough chuckle, gesturing to Sten with his thumb. “—definitely not the giant.”

Said giant ignored him, instead, staring at the woman playing a lute in the corner. Soon after, Zevran returned to their table, having been chatting with a girl at the other side of the tavern. He took a seat across from the two men and next to the qunari, the back of the chair against his chest as he rested his folded arms over it. “Fereldan women are so strong and wild...” he said with an accomplished smile, glancing over his shoulder at the still giggling lady. He sent her a light wave, one she returned with a blush on her face and another fit of giggles. “I do like this little country of yours...”

“You’ve obviously never been with a dwarf,” Oghren muttered with a snicker. “They’ve a way of driving you crazy. In more ways than one.”

“So I heard...” The elf put on a mischievous smirk, regarded the qunari sitting stone silent beside him. “What about you, Sten? Are your women as tough as you?”

Sten glanced at them, a still full pint of ale sitting before him. “Tough is not something we define as physical prowess. We define it by our commitment to our people.”

“Ah… Well, if your women are as huge as you are, then I would love to meet one.” Zevran chuckled, his voice made of velvet. “I bet they are a sight to behold.”

“Hm.” Sten grunted with disinterest. “The priestesses are an integral part of the qun. They are very good counsel. ”

Oghren scoffed. “You mean you talk to your women?”

“You don’t?” Sten asked with an almost imperceptible lift of an eyebrow.

“I tried once and she tried to kill me...”

Another grunt escaped the qunari. “That makes logical sense.”

“What?” Oghren’s bushy brows met at his plump nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zevran let out a laugh. “Oh, how I love Sten’s brutal honesty.”

“Hrmph…” Oghren drank more ale, then hiccuped before smirking at him. “You sodding dusters just don’t realize I’m an acquired taste…”

“Yes, my dear friend. You are, I would say… like that cheap wine that burns going down.” Zevran chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Great fun once you get past the bitterness.”

“Hah!” Oghren lightly punched his side, laughing merrily. “Damn straight!”

Distracted by his thoughts, Alistair rested his chin on his hand, looking down at his cup while vaguely listening to their idle banter. They had succeeded in collecting the help of the dwarves, elves, and the mages. Now all that remained was Ferelden’s armies. Thankfully, Arl Eamon was well again, so they had his voice to help unify the country against the Blight. Still, it remained to be seen if that would be enough to take on Loghain. 

The Teyrn of Gwaren was a respected, honored general. Best friend to the late King Maric, the savior of Ferelden, and their queen’s father. Arl Eamon was just as decorated, having fought the Orlessian forces to cast them out from Redcliffe during the war, but he didn’t have the same fame Loghain maintained. 

“Pretty quiet there, Warden.”

Snapping out of his reverie, Alistair turned his attention to Oghren’s questioning stare. “Aren’t ya happy you saved that Eamon guy?” 

“Yes…” he replied with a subtle frown. “Of course I'm glad we saved his life. Not only because I owe him, but because we worked pretty hard to get those ashes.”

“You can say that again,” Oghren said as he lifted his pint in a gesture of cheers. He knocked back his cup, taking a few long gulps before wiping his mustache and letting out a burp. “Ugh... Then why are you moping?”

“I’m not moping… Not this time, anyway,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I was just thinking of what’s to come after this. We’ll most likely be going to Denerim to face Loghain and the rest of Ferelden’s nobility.”

“Well…” Zevran huffed. “That’s going to be interesting…”

“Yes… Yes, it will be.” Alistair gripped his cup between his hands, conflicting feelings causing him to narrow his eyes at the amber liquid. He wanted nothing but vengeance against the bastard who killed his brothers, but he was also anxious and unsure of how he would react upon finally seeing his face again.

A sudden slam as the tavern door flew open startled everyone inside. It silenced the soft music and all conversations stopped as all turned surprised stares to a hooded man hobbling in. He was panting heavily, holding onto his side. 

Alistair gave him a concerned look, rising slowly from his chair. Both staff and patrons whispered amongst themselves, wondering who he was as the man spun around, wildly searching the place. 

“Hey…” Alistair called, taking a step towards him. “Are you all right, ser?”

At the sound of his voice, his attention quickly focused on the Warden. Gasping, he hurriedly made for their table, nearly tripping over his own feet as he went to him on unsteady steps.

Zevran, Oghren, and Sten all stood and reached for their weapons, but Alistair raised a hand. “Wait…”

The stranger stopped before him, shakily grasping his shoulders. His gaze went from the griffon on his chest to Alistair’s face, great relief filling him upon seeing him up close. “I… found you…!” he breathed just before he crumbled.

“H-Hey!” Alistair reached out to him, grabbing him to not let him fall. He lowered him slowly to the floor and took a knee beside him, an arm around his shoulders as he propped him up. It was then that he saw the large gash on the man’s side, his blood pouring out of him and onto the floor. “Someone get a healer!” Alistair shouted to the crowd in the room. Whoever this man was, he was in awful shape. 

“I'll go get Wynne!” Zevran offered and jogged around the table, only to stop at the man's weakened cry.

“N-No!” 

He gripped Alistair's cloak, his hood falling back to reveal a pale, wrinkled face and graying hair. “It's... too late for me,” he said hoarsely, wincing in pain while gazing up at the stunned young man holding him. “What… What matters is that I finally found you, lad…”

Alistair’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, trying in vain to recognize the stranger. “Do I know you?”

“I am Elric Maraigne… I was King Cailan’s confidant… I… was in Ostagar with him before he died.” He grunted and winced again. “He… sent me away before it all happened… telling me to find you after the battle… because he seemed to have known… that their plan there was doomed to fail.”

“He what?” Alistair breathed in shock.

“He… He told me to give this to you… and only you.” A bloodied hand went up to a key that hung from his neck, then pulled, breaking the thin chain. He then offered the item to the Grey Warden, barely able to lift his arm.

Hesitating, Alistair took it and gazed at it as it lay on his open palm. Questioning eyes shifted back to Elric, now seeking answers. “Why did Cailan continue on despite knowing what would happen? Did he know Loghain was plotting against him?"

The confidant nodded slowly. “He suspected… I think…"

"Then why in the Maker's name didn't he wait for reinforcements?” Alistair demanded more forcefully. “Why go through with the battle and Loghain's strategy if he was expecting a stab in the back? We lost many good men and women that day because of it!”

“He had… no choice. He may have sounded as if all was going well... but he was only keeping up morale. By the last report before that night... the darkspawn horde was already pressing on towards Ostagar. Waiting would have meant giving up a good strategic position to the monsters... and losing face before his men if they fled...” Elric drew in a quivering breath and swallowed, his voice cracking. “All he could do was try to stop them then and there. And if he failed… Then at least he had another plan the surviving Grey Wardens could use… That’s why… I’m here...” 

“I see…” With a troubled expression, Alistair wondered if Duncan knew the same. If that was why he went through with the king’s wishes and sent him and Everil to the tower instead of letting them fight alongside him.

“The key is to the king’s chest...” he continued, his breathing becoming erratic as blood loss weakened his body. He pulled on his cloak harder, making him look more closely at his face as pain twisted his features. “Find… the chest in Ostagar… In the king’s… tent, and take its contents. Please… I beg you. The darkspawn scum... should not soil my king's possessions with their foul hands!”

The Warden pityingly gazed at him, finally recalling who he was. This man had been with Cailan in nearly every meeting both he and Duncan attended, standing conspicuously in the back while listening to the conversations. Which meant the king trusted him more than he trusted anyone else. He couldn't understand what it was Cailan wanted him to have from that chest, but whatever it was, seemed to be something important. Significant enough to send his most loyal subject searching for him. And by the looks of his torn clothes and worn shoes, he'd been wandering throughout Ferelden for a long time, possibly trailing them from town to town.

“All right…” Alistair responded quietly, hand closing around the key. “We will go look for this chest and retrieve what the king left for us. You have my word.”

“Thank you…” As if a heavy burden had been lifted from him, Elric let out a long sigh, suddenly exhausted. Then his eyes slid shut and he stopped breathing, leaving Alistair with many other unanswered questions as he carefully lay him on the cold floor.

The doors to the tavern burst open once more as a group of five soldiers stalked in, wearing the emblem of another lord from outside of Redcliffe. They looked around, searching for something until they found them. The knight leading them scowled at the Warden. “That beggar is our prisoner.”

“Well, you’re a little late...” Alistair rose to his feet, putting the key away in his bag before giving the men a severe look. “He's dead. And I assume it was you guys who killed him.”

The soldier brushed off the accusation, his tone frigid. “He gave you a key, didn't he? He stole that from my lord, Bann Loren. He wants it back, so hand it over, Grey Warden.”

“Heh… Nice try, but you’re a terrible liar.” Folding his arms, Alistair put on a sarcastic smile. “I’m fairly sure you and your lord know exactly who this key truly belonged to, and how valuable it is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have chased this man all the way here from the Bannorn. Which is unfortunate, since you’ll have to make the trip back empty-handed. I'm not giving you anything.”

“And unfortunately you don't have a choice, Grey Warden.” He drew his sword and his soldiers followed suit. But before they could take a single step, Sten, Zevran, and Oghren swiftly armed themselves and stood beside Alistair, ready to fight.

“Oh, yes he sodding does, arsehole…” Oghren challenged threateningly. “You come close and we’ll make sure not even your own mothers will be able to identify what’s left of your bodies.” 

Zevran grinned wickedly, his soft voice carrying an edge. “You might want to put those weapons away before you get hurt. The qunari here can probably pummel you all one-handed.”

A scream from the back had them pause when a soldier got ahold of a barmaid. He twisted her arm behind her back and pressed his blade to her throat, while the customers nearby gasped. “He’s got Helen!” a man cried in fear. 

She quivered under his hold, blood sliding down her neck where the edge cut through her soft skin. Smirking, the knight pointed his blade at Alistair. “You wouldn't let the poor girl die, now, would you? Give us the key or her blood will rain upon the floor.”

“That wouldn't be very smart, you know. If you kill one of the villagers you’ll have to respond to Arl Eamon and his knights,” Alistair countered, all humor gone from his face.

“Worth the risk,” he spat.

The man holding the hostage then let out a painful grunt, a blade protruding from his side as someone stabbed him from behind. He released the girl and then fell on his knees, revealing Everil as she stood with her sword dripping blood. Her hound growled next to her, while their female companions remained behind her, all armed. “Are you certain of that?” she uttered menacingly. “Because I do not believe that you'll be able to take on all of us and survive.”

A curse escaped him and he and his men lowered their weapons, finding themselves surrounded. The knight glowered at her and sheathed his blade before releasing a derisive snort, lifting his nose in the air. “That key isn't worth this much trouble... Come, men. At least we rid ourselves of that troublesome old man.”

Everil stepped aside, eyeing them warily as they passed her by, a look she shared with the rest of the people in the tavern. Two of them grabbed their injured friend, helping him walk along with them as they left the building. Their companions put away their weapons, while the patrons slowly returned to their drink, shaken and confused. 

Alistair set a few coins on their table to pay for their ale, then walked over to her. “Glad you got here when you did.”

“What was that all about?” she asked, sheathing her sword.

“Just some idiots trying to take something that isn't theirs.” He sighed before turning to Sten. “Hey, Sten… Can you pick him up? We should bring him with us and see if Arl Eamon or Bann Teagan can find his family… or at least give him a proper burial.”

The qunari silently nodded.

A frown creased Everil’s brow as they watched him take a knee and effortlessly pick up a body from the floor, hoisting it up in his massive arms. As he approached them with it, she got a good look at its familiar features. Faint memories from her visits to Denerim’s royal palace replayed in her mind, reminding her of the man who had once stood by Cailan’s side. 

“Isn't that... one of the king’s honor guards?” she breathed as Sten stepped past them, her stunned gaze following him. “What's he doing here...? What happened to him?”

Alistair placed a hand on her back and led her to the door. “Come on. I’ll tell you on our way back to the castle.”

  
  
  
  



	6. Burdens of Blood

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he sun had begun to set by the time _ Arl Eamon summoned them to the castle’s main hall. In spite of having been in bed for nearly a year, he was standing regally before them, with shoulders straight, hands clasped behind his back and his white beard and long hair neatly combed. The flames burning in the grand fireplace behind him reflected off his dark brown, gold-embroidered tunic, giving him an even more imposing presence. While Isolde and Teagan stood at his right and left as his personal counsel.

This was indeed the Arl Eamon Alistair remembered.

“I have called upon you for various reasons,” he began, speaking with renewed strength as his gaze shifted between the Grey Wardens. Their party listened from the back of the room, intently watching the exchange. “But before we discuss what is to come... I wish to thank every one of you for all you have done for us.” He addressed Everil with a slight smile. “And you, especially… I heard you freed both my village and my family from the demon that held us captive… You have no idea the good you have done this old man’s heart by saving that which is precious to me, Lady Everil Cousland.”

She politely tipped her head. “I was glad to be of assistance, my lord.”

“I have learned of Bryce’s death… It is unfortunate. Your father fought bravely alongside King Maric and my father in the war for the throne during the Orlesian occupation. He was a hero.” His words carried a solemn tone, his sharp stare softening into warm kindness. “As a gesture of my gratitude, know that when the time comes for you to reclaim your title and your lands from Howe, I shall make my soldiers available to you. You have but to ask.”

Everil kept her chin up, trying not to show the pressure in her chest at his offer. “Thank you...”

“Now, to the matter at hand…” The arl proceeded in a booming voice. “The Blight has extended past the farmlands, destroying entire villages in the south, now nearing the center of Ferelden… We are running short on time and must act quickly to defeat it. But with my dear nephew dead and Loghain’s civil war further dividing the country, the nobles are scattered in the wind along with their resources.”

“We were hoping you would lend us your help with that...” said Alistair, his expression hardened by anger. “Loghain should pay for what he did in Ostagar.”

“By Teagan’s account, the man has unfortunately lost both his way and his mind… But he maintains the respect and admiration of the people of Ferelden—as both a hero and a patriot.” The arl thoughtfully stroked his beard. “With him acting regent, it will be quite difficult to sway his supporters and unify the country to obtain the forces we need. Which is why I have made a decision in regards to the throne...” 

He let out a sigh, his next words weighing heavy on his shoulders. “The only way to bring peace back to Ferelden and defeat Loghain is for her to have a true king once more. But we will need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Queen Anora.” Eamon’s unwavering stare focused fully on Alistair. “And as Maric’s only surviving son… you are that someone, Alistair.”

Everil’s head snapped to her fellow Warden, seeing the same shock over his face. 

“What? The Warden’s a prince?” Oghren asked Zevran in a quiet grumble.

“Yep. More like a bastard prince though,” he muttered with a snicker. “He’s the son of a maid…”

“Ooh…” the dwarf chuckled gruffly. “How romantic...”

“I…” Alistair shakily reached up to rub the back of his neck, looking away from the arl as if doing so would grant him the courage to defy him. “I… I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't you take the throne instead? You are more qualified to be Ferelden’s king than I ever will.”

To his disappointment, Eamon shook his head. “Despite Rowan, my sister, having been Ferelden’s queen and Cailan’s mother, it would appear opportunist of us to stake a claim to the throne. The crown belongs to the Theirin bloodline, as it has since Calenhad. Cailan had no successor. Therefore, you are the only one who can take the reins.” 

“No. I’m sorry, but I can't,” Alistair protested forcefully, distraught eyes meeting the arl’s calm ones. “My lord, you know that I wasn't raised to be king. I don't know the first thing about ruling a country.”

“You may not have been raised in the same way Cailan was, but you possess knowledge he lacked. You know the hardships the people face first hand. You can relate to them. That alone will make you a good ruler.” 

“But—”

“You will be the one to take the throne, Alistair.” Eamon’s gaze hardened, his tone firm. “I expect nothing less of you.”

Alistair’s hands closed into fists, suddenly feeling as he did when he sent him to the monastery all those years ago. “This is my life we're talking about!” he snapped. “Don’t I have  _ any  _ say in it?” 

The arl rigidly lifted his nose. “I'm afraid sometimes life does not give one the luxury of choices, son.” 

With an exasperated growl, Alistair whirled about and stalked to the door, completely disregarding protocol and seeking nothing but to be as far away from the situation as possible.

“Alistair!” Everil took a step to follow him.

“Lady Everil.”

She paused, turning to look up at the arl.

His hard expression had melted into guilt. “He will need some time to calm down... Give him a moment.” 

“He doesn’t want the throne…” Everil faced him with a questioning look. “Why are you forcing it upon him?”

“As someone raised within our circle, you know that we must sometimes make difficult decisions for the sake of the people—at times even going against our own interests.” Eamon drew in a breath, his sage appearance reminding her of her father. “Alistair’s life may have been difficult, but it was still a rather sheltered one, free from the burdens of responsibility. Maric was also coddled in his youth, constantly protected from the cruel world that was Ferelden under Orlesian occupation.”

“He once confessed to me in private that when he found himself king, he felt lost, unworthy and unprepared—the same self-doubt Alistair feels now. And yet, despite his own fears, Maric came to be the ruler Ferelden needed after years of slavery.”

Everil’s brow furrowed in conflict. “That’s not the same situation entirely. Alistair resents his bloodline. He has suffered much because of it.” 

“I am very aware of that... I was partly to blame for it all...” He sighed, shamefully averting his eyes for just a moment before straightening himself. “And yes… He may hate and fear taking over his father’s throne at first, but he appears to have grown into a kind young man who cares deeply and selflessly about others. With the right counsel, he can grow to become a great king.” Eamon then sauntered down the steps to her, gently gripping her shoulder. “All he needs now is someone he can trust. You two appear to be close. Speak with him and help him understand.”

“I…” Everil blinked, noticing that the arl didn't yet know about their relationship.  _ I suppose such a thing isn’t important right now...  _

“Please… As a Cousland, you understand that this is what is best for Ferelden,” Eamon insisted. “I am sure your father would have agreed.”

The Warden pressed her lips into a line, torn between respecting the wishes of the man she loved and the fate of her country. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled, her heart twisting uncomfortably at the burden of her duty. “Very well… I suppose I can at least help him feel better about this.”

“Good.” He patted her arm. “We will depart to Denerim when you’re ready. In the meantime, I shall send some letters via raven and arrange a Landsmeet. We will need the nobility’s approval if Alistair is to become king. Now, go speak to him. Knowing him, I am sure you will find him somewhere in the castle’s garden, towards the back. It's a rather small grassy area with a few trees, so you won't miss him. ”

“Understood...” Everil nodded, and with a sigh, made for the door. She crossed the length of the hall, pausing by the others on the way out.

“Is Alistair going to be all right?” Leliana asked worriedly.

“Such a fool…” Morrigan scoffed, folding her arms. “Throwing a fit like a child. Are you certain he should be crowned? Because it appears to me he is too much a coward to rule over absolutely anything.”

“He's just angry at the moment, Morrigan. It’s a tough subject for him…” Everil replied with a troubled brow. “What would you do if someone declared you some country’s ruler without so much as asking how you felt about it?”

The witch quirked an eyebrow. “Knowing me as you do, would you truly need my answer?”

“No… I suppose not. I'm fairly certain you’d enjoy all that power for a while.” She shook her head at her, then bit her lip nervously. “I guess I should go speak with him now... See what happens…”

“Go, young lady,” Wynne urged her with a motherly smile. “Just show him he is a much better man than he believes himself to be. I’m sure he will respond well to your encouragement and support.”

Everil placed a hand on the old woman's arm. “Thank you, Wynne…”

Then the party watched her exit the hall, some exchanging glances amongst themselves as the gates closed shut behind her.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

King of Ferelden.

A title he’d never dreamed to claim, nor ever wanted. In his mind, he’d been just a nobody since birth. An orphan struggling through life while haunted by the mistakes of parents he’d never known. If none of what happened ever occurred, he’d probably still be traveling with Duncan and the other Grey Wardens. Without a care in the world. Just killing darkspawn, drinking, eating, and then killing some more. If he’d never even met Duncan, then he may have become a templar, something he wouldn’t have minded as much now.

The very idea of being in charge of an entire country paralyzed him. He just wasn't leading material, regardless of all the growing up he’d been forced to do throughout their journey. All he’d done thus far was wonder about what someone else would do in his place. What orders they would give and what path they would follow. Especially during times in which he’d taken temporary command over their party, which hadn’t been many to begin with.

Still, none of the decisions were ever his choice. Everil was always the one with the last word. Because he’d allowed it. He let her take the lead out of fear of making mistakes, even if sometimes he’d fooled himself into believing otherwise.

And now they wanted him to be responsible for the lives of thousands of people? Someone as insignificant and incompetent as him. A man who’s only accomplishment was to be born with some dead monarch’s blood, which had been as much a curse to him as the taint itself. 

Letting out a frustrated grunt, Alistair threw a pebble at the grass a few steps from him and watched as a few blades snapped and tore under his unwarranted assault. He’d been sitting under a leafless tree that grew inside the small, secluded garden of the castle. All the while, trying to find his thoughts through the storm that raged inside his head.  _ Damn it… What am I supposed to do now? _

“What are you doing, Ser Knight?” 

Alistair craned his head to the small voice, fully intending to tell them to leave him alone. But his irritated scowl quickly softened upon seeing who it was. 

Connor was gazing curiously down at him, standing by him while holding a wooden sword in one hand. His features were those of a normal boy now, his innocence showing as a complete contrast to the distorted form they fought before.

“I... Uh... nothing… Just thinking,” he stammered awkwardly, a little unsettled by the child's inquisitive stare.

“About what?” He tilted his head, the action vaguely reminding him of Everil’s hound.

Feeling foolish, Alistair scratched the back of his neck, his tone riddled with uncertainty. “Someone is forcing me to do something I don't want to do… And I’m wondering why.”

“Oh… I know how that feels…” Connor smiled sadly, glancing at his wooden sword. “I was just told by Father that I must go live in the Circle of Magi, with other mages. But I don't want to go. I like living here with my mother and father… I like the village too. I really don't understand why I can’t stay.”

“He didn't tell you why you have to go to the Circle?”

“He did, actually.” His insecure expression returned to the knight sitting before him. “I have magic and magic is dangerous. But I don't understand why it’s dangerous—why I am... dangerous. I really don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I’m sorry…” said Alistair, feeling sympathy for him. _ It’s a good thing they didn’t tell him what happened… _

“It's all right, ser. ” Connor’s smile broadened, but sadness was still present behind it. “I still don't want to leave, but it's what I must do. So I will go. Because it’s my duty to help my father keep the village safe… even from me.”

Alistair’s eyes widened a fraction at his words, finding that their problems were the same. Connor was born a mage, a choice he didn't make and one that would mark him as an outcast for the rest of his life. And he was the illegitimate son of a king, something for which others treated him differently and rejected him for as long as he could remember.

And yet this boy—a small child he wagered was his age when his father sent him away from this very castle—somehow held more courage than he. While he sat there, wallowing in self-pity, Connor was willing to do what was necessary for the sake of his people, regardless of his personal desire to remain free of the Circle’s shackles.

_ Maker… I am pathetic, aren’t I?  _ He let out a soft breath and let himself smile a little at the kid. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re very brave, Connor.”

Connor’s expression brightened at that. “Thank you, ser.”

“Alistair.”

He blinked and tilted his head again.

Alistair grinned and offered him his hand. “You can just call me Alistair.”

The boy mirrored his expression and shook it. “Good to meet you, Alistair.”

“There you are,” Everil called as she headed towards them, accompanied by her dog.

Connor’s face lit up upon seeing them. “A mabari!”

Bjorn barked, stopping in front of the boy before licking his face, causing him to erupt in a fit of laughter. He petted the dog, scratching him behind the ears while the hound happily wagged his stub of a tail. “Can I play with it?” he asked.

Everil offered him a kind smile. This child had nearly killed everyone in Redcliffe just months ago. Now, the way he gazed up at her—with eyes that looked as if they’d never seen bloodshed—truly reminded her of her late nephew. “Sure…” she answered warmly. “Just be careful. Lady Isolde would be upset if you got hurt.”

“Yes, my lady!” He ran towards the open area of the garden, the hound chasing after him.

They watched him go before Everil took a seat on the ground next to Alistair and wrapped both arms around one of his. He let out a breath, patting her hand. “I'm sorry I stormed out like that.”

“It’s all right... I don't blame you for being upset.” 

“I just… I can't believe he would do this to me.” 

With a sigh of her own, Everil leaned her temple against his shoulder and a brief silence followed as she tried to find the right words. She bit her lip, then spoke in a gentle tone. “Well, I… I think he’s right.”

“What?” His voice was nearly a whisper, his stunned eyes on her.

“Ferelden is in chaos and someone has to overthrow Loghain before we can unify the country and gather our forces against the Blight.” She lifted her head, her azure gaze meeting his amber pools as she tenderly cupped his cheek. “I know it’s not what you want to hear from me. That the topic alone brings back dreadful memories. But after traveling with you all this time, and after all that we have been through together... I can say with full confidence that you have what it takes to be the king Ferelden needs.”

Her words sounded so sincere that he just didn’t have it in him to get upset at her. Instead, his hand came up to rest upon hers, and he stared at her, filled with doubt. “But, Everil…”

“You don’t need to decide now. But I think perhaps you should think about it on our way to Ostagar. Far away from the castle walls.” She smiled slightly, lowering her hand and resting it on his arm once more. “Maybe getting some distance from this place will help you think more clearly.”

He nodded slowly. “I would like that, yes.”

“We should go before sunrise tomorrow. The others can remain here and wait for us. Arl Eamon said we would be traveling to Denerim once we are ready, so we should return as soon as we can.” Her smile broadened. “Whatever you decide, we will tell him together...”

A corner of his lip went up. “All right…”

They heard a bark as Bjorn ran back to them, Connor trailing after him. The hound licked her cheek as Everil chuckled and petted his neck, shaking her head at him. “Did you have fun, boy?”

He barked, then turned to Connor, who was suddenly standing still and staring at her face with remorse. “I did that, didn’t I...?”

“Did what?” Everil shifted her attention to him while still petting the hound. 

Connor stepped closer, then a small finger reached out to trace the scar across her face. “This… I think I dreamed it. Did I do that...?”

Both Wardens stared at him with surprise, and the sudden silence became tangible. “No…” Everil soon answered as she rose to her feet, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You were not the one who did this. Something evil did.” 

Alistair also stood, quietly regarding the two with concern.

“Something evil?” Connor tilted his head. 

“That’s right…” She nodded. “And you’re not evil.” 

“Even though I have magic?” 

“Of course, silly.” Everil grinned and ruffled his hair the same way she did her nephew when he still lived. “You seem like a perfectly normal boy to me.”

He chuckled and tried to swat her hand away.

Alistair didn’t miss the sad look that crossed her face at his reaction. He stepped closer, then placed a hand on the small of her back. “We should go to sleep... We have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Ah, right…” She smiled weakly, then returned her gaze to the young noble. “Lady Isolde is probably also looking for you by now, Connor.” 

He wiped his nose and snickered. “Father too.” 

“Come on.” She motioned to the gate with her head. “We should go inside before they get worried.”

The Grey Wardens led him to the castle while Everil found herself longing for her old life. She hadn’t had time to think about it as of late, but she missed home. The way the soldiers said their greetings each morning, and the sound of her nephew running through the halls. But as she gazed up towards Alistair while they walked, Everil found that this new normal wasn’t all that bad. 

Yet, as the thought crossed her mind, another followed. One that made her heart twist painfully with dread. 

If Alistair’s future was possibly to be the new ruler of the country, then where would that leave hers? Where would that leave their relationship? She was a nobody without the lands and title Howe usurped from her father when Highever castle fell. Would she even be able to stay with him after this was over?

The Warden stared up at him and anxiously took his hand. In turn, he cast loving eyes upon her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gently squeezed. 

And this time, she didn't feel reassured by it.


	7. Return to Ostagar

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ fter leaving their group in Redcliffe _ , the Grey Wardens set out towards Ostagar. They shared a horse this time, with Everil riding behind Alistair, her arms about his waist as they galloped over patches of snow along the Imperial Highway. They expected to find darkspawn still roaming the ruins, as leftover forces to quell any efforts to reclaim them. The plan was to sneak into the ruins and leave with the contents of Cailan’s chest, while hopefully avoiding confrontation with any remaining darkspawn therein. 

“Are you sure the others won't cause trouble for the arl?” Alistair asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Everil smiled. “They’re not children.” 

“I don’t know...” He let out a chuckle. “Sometimes it feels more like we’re babysitting rather than leading a group of able warriors.”

She laughed lightly. “I'm sure the arl can handle it.” 

Soon they entered the Korcari Wilds, the trees casting shadows over them. They encountered deserted roads and heard not a single animal for miles. Ice clung to the evergreens and willows that were now bare, their branches dry as bones. Resilient weeds, once green all year long, turned a shade of grey, shriveled and crumbled. The further they traveled, the more lifeless the scenery became. They had yet to run into darkspawn by the time Ostagar was visible from afar, but they could already feel their presence. 

“Maker…” Alistair sadly took in the view around them. “The taint’s everywhere.” 

Everil’s expression mirrored his. “At least with the horde having moved further north, there will be less darkspawn to worry about here.” 

He frowned. “That’s not exactly a good thing...” 

“No…” A sigh escaped her. “No, it’s not...”

When they arrived the ruins were desolate, more snow hiding everything in a frigid, white blanket. Exhaling a puff of air, Alistair dismounted and then reached up to take her by the waist. She placed her hands over his shoulders and let him help her, her feet crunching on the ground when he set her down on it. The chilling breeze swept up their thick cloaks, making them sway around them as they surveyed their surroundings.

The silence was deafening, safe for their footsteps and their soft breaths as they carefully stepped into where it all began. They entered through the area where they met with both the king and the traitor on that fateful night, just before the great battle. The table where the map once lay was tipped on its side, candle sticks and cups of ale scattered about the floor. More white powder coated the room, winter’s grip clutching the walls and accentuating its barren appearance. They quietly crossed the hall, heading for the steps that once led towards the camp.

The pair gazed about melancholically as they descended the stairs, each still hesitant to speak as if doing so would disturb the ghosts they’d left behind. Pieces of armor and weapons peppered the ground, while the tents were no more, torn by the darkspawn after they laid claim to the ancient fortress. Gone was the scent of burning wood from the hearths and the sound of soldiers laughing beside the warmth of the flames. Gone was the barking of the mabari hounds in their pens and the voices of the chantry sisters bestowing their blessings upon the men. All replaced by nothing but the stillness of solitude and the lingering whispers of death. 

“I didn’t think we would ever return here…” Her tone was so soft he almost didn’t hear her over their footsteps.

“Yeah… Neither did I...” he replied just as quietly. 

She paused in her steps. “I feel some darkspawn nearby. Do you?”

“Yes…” He stopped walking, facing her. “And their numbers are manageable, but we best be careful. We should try to avoid fighting them, if possible.”

“Agreed,” she replied, then frowned worriedly. “Perhaps not bringing the others wasn't such a good idea.”

“No… I think I like it better this way.” He sighed white smoke as he glanced around solemnly. “This place… It's too important to us. Besides, fewer numbers attract less attention.”

“I suppose you’re right...” she whispered, then resumed her stride.

Alistair now led the way, searching for the spot on which the king’s tent sat all those months ago. It was difficult to tell where everything was, as the layers of snow covered most of the remains. They went by the layout of the ruins and what they could see of their path instead, eventually passing the kennels.

A large chest in the distance got Alistair's attention and he cautiously headed in its direction, followed by Everil. He approached the locked trunk, while she glanced at the desk beside it, more white caking its surface. She gazed at Alistair as he took a knee and reached into his pack. “Is that Cailan’s chest?” she asked, folding her arms.

“I think so… It has the royal emblem on it.” He produced the key, its golden engraving matching the two mabari hounds on the seal. While he worked on opening the chest, Everil looked around, keeping her guard up for any of the enemies they sensed. She could feel their presence was close, but couldn't see them, which meant they could be lurking in the lower levels of the fortress or in hiding somewhere nearby.

Alistair opened the chest, wondering what it was the king put away for him to find. And when he looked into its depths, he was shocked by what he found. “By the Maker…” he whispered, reaching in to lift a mighty long sword, robust in appearance, yet elegant in its design. Gold plated the hilt, clutching the thick iron like a dragon’s tail and meeting with the fine steel of the blade. He recalled seeing Cailan wielding it during their previous battles against the darkspawn, but felt he'd also seen it elsewhere. Regardless, it was a far better blade than the one he carried. 

Looking inside the chest once more, he spotted several letters, one of them with his name on it. He stabbed the blade into the ground next to him, keeping it upright, then reached in, pulling out the folded paper. He opened it and another look of bewilderment dawned on him as he read.

_ Dear Alistair, _

_If you are reading this, then we have failed to stop the Blight and I have perished in battle along with my men. My death will throw Ferelden into political turmoil, and those in the nobility will be scrambling to make sense of things without their king. Thus, you will not have their aid until they have someone to follow._ _That means that with me gone, you will need to seek my uncle’s help. And Eamon, being a man of honor and virtue, will surely wish for you to take my place on the throne._

_ To aid you in this grueling task, I bequeath to you our father’s sword, as he passed it on to me upon his death. Wield it with pride. For although fate demanded our paths be different, you are still King Maric's son, my brother, and a man who has earned my respect as an ally and as a friend during the short time in which we fought together against the evil that threatens our nation.  _

_ Others will doubt you or seek to keep the crown from you. My wife, Anora, will be one of them. So you must stay strong and defeat those who wronged us. Remember this when you stand before the Landsmeet. Remember what’s at stake, why you fight. And bring Ferelden back from the brink. _

_ May the Maker watch over you... little brother. _

_ \- Cailan _

He slowly lowered the letter, shocked into a stupor.

“What’s wrong?”

As if snapping from a spell, Alistair glanced up and swallowed, seeing her concerned stare.

“He knew about me…” he murmured, his gaze reverting to the letter as he gripped it tightly. “He knew I was his brother all along. That’s why he sent us to the tower that night… Why he tried to keep me out of the battle.”

“Then odds are Duncan probably knew about the king’s plan too… Which is why he agreed to send us both to the tower.”

“I should have been there with them…”

“He saved your life.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, standing close to comfort him. “ _ They _ saved your life… Mine too.”

“I know…” Alistair let out a breath, his hand covering hers. “Heh… And I suppose his plan worked, after all. We’ve come so far...”

After carefully folding the letter, he slid it into his side pack and then looked in the trunk once more. He picked up what remained of the documents and opened them, noticing that some held different handwriting to Cailan’s. He skimmed through them, a frown creasing his forehead. “Everil… He’d already sought the help of the Orlesians against the Blight.”

“What?” She reached down as Alistair handed her the letter he’d been reading.

“These letters are from Empress Selene, the Empress of Orlais,” Alistair added, continuing to read the rest of the correspondence. “It looks like Cailan had been in talks with her since before Duncan and I told him about the Blight.”

“They were negotiating a peace treaty…” Everil said in awe. 

Ferelden and Orlais never truly settled their disputes since King Maric took back the throne from the Orlesian usurper. A peace treaty would have officially ended the war between the two countries. Such an agreement would have opened opportunities for trade and would have even gained Ferelden a new ally. In this case, a powerful ally willing to join forces against the Blight.

“Andraste’s blood…” Alistair suddenly stood and faced her. “What if Loghain found out about this? What if that’s why he betrayed Cailan?”

“It is possible…. He was clearly angry when he suggested seeking their help,” she replied before returning the document. “Here. He wanted you to have them. Keep them.”

“Right…” He neatly folded the letters, then stashed them in his bag.

Sudden movement nearby had them whirl around just as a genlock emerged from behind a pile of snow. It cried out, calling forth more of its brethren. They burst from the ground, from behind boxes, torn tents, and rock piles. All armed and growling directly at them.

“Well… that took them long enough.” Alistair unsheathed his old blade and stuck it to the ground, taking his father’s sword in its place.

Everil drew her weapons. “Let’s finish them quickly.”

The darkspawn charged towards them with axes, and swords, roaring through jagged teeth. Everil met them halfway, dodging a strike from a genlock as she spun and impaled its head. Alistair blocked an axe with his shield, then pushed forth, hitting the hurlock's face and stripping its balance. He then swung in a sideways arch, sending its head flying as blood surged from its open neck. 

Everil flung her dagger at another’s forehead, dropping it on its back just as she cut down the next. It gargled and crumbled on the snow, turning the pure white into black. She then hurried over to her dagger, plucking it from the genlock’s corpse before striking at two more.

In minutes all but one lay dead.

They set their sights on it as it tried to sneak away, holding something in its claws.

“That’s...” Alistair took a step. “That’s the joining chalice… The one Duncan used to use!”

She looked at him, then back at the genlock, realizing something wasn’t right. “Hold on… This doesn't—”

“Hey!” Alistair sheathed his sword and gave chase, leaving her behind.

“W-Wait!” Everil put away her blades and ran after him. “Alistair!”

The genlock cackled, glancing over at them as its small legs took it to the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal.

“Give that back you little bastard!” Alistair yelled angrily, running around a pile of rubble while she followed them, nearly tripping over her own feet. 

Everil cursed under her breath as they reached the overpass and began to cross it. “Alistair stop! It could be a trap!” Just as those words left her mouth the genlock halted, then spun to face them when a hurlock wielding a staff joined it. Both Grey Wardens froze in their tracks as it summoned a fireball, waving its staff. Behind it, more darkspawn emerged from the ruins, roaring and screeching. The hurlock fired, unleashing its magic upon them. 

“Look out!” Alistair tackled Everil to the ground, shielding her with his body as the flames zoomed over them, narrowly missing them. He then rolled them over, dodging an axe from the same genlock with the chalice. Now on top, Everil sat up, straddling his hips and drawing her bow as the hurlock cast once more. In one swift motion, she aimed and fired, the arrow hitting the creature in the eye and immediately dispelling the flames. The two Wardens promptly detangled themselves from each other and rose, Alistair punching the genlock across the face before drawing his sword to slay it.

Everil continued to release a stream of arrows, taking out several enemies as they came. Meanwhile, Alistair stepped forth and dispatched the rest, slicing through them and letting them fall into a pool of their own gore. 

Releasing a breath, he put away his sword and saw the irritated look she was giving him. “I know, I know… Shouldn’t have run off like that,” he muttered before bending over to pick up the joining chalice. “Worth it though…”

She curiously walked up to him. “Is that really it?”

“Yes…”

“That means we have part of what we need to make new Grey Wardens…” she whispered, staring at the silver cup that changed her life forever. “And a memento from Duncan...”

He pressed his lips into a line and nodded before giving it to her. “You carry it... You have more room in your bag.” 

“Very well.” She took it, concerned by his saddened expression. “Are you all right?”

Alistair huffed and averted his gaze. “Yeah, I—” Then all the color drained from his face when his eyes landed on something behind her. “Those… Those bastards…!”

“What is it?” Everil turned to look and palled.

The torn form of Cailan’s decomposing body hung from a makeshift altar at the center of the bridge, stripped of all armor and clothes. Like a macabre trophy, they had set him high for all to see. An obvious display of victory over the king of Ferelden and a clear warning to all who dared challenge the Archdemon and its darkspawn horde. 

He was bloated, but the cold seemed to preserve him well enough for them to witness the damage. His chest was crushed, his legs and arms carrying purple gashes and bruises long clotted. His youthful features remained frozen in both surprise and fear, his pale, dead stare still looking on at the expanse of the Korcari Wilds from above. 

Alistair took tentative steps, his eyes glued to the corpse as the smell of rotting flesh assaulted his nostrils. A long moment passed, his mind unable to fathom the sight before him. He hadn’t known him for long and they’d shared nothing other than a few conversations, but seeing him used in such a way made his blood boil. His hands curled into fists, angry at both the darkspawn for killing him and at Loghain for having left him to die at their hands.

Soberly, Everil stood beside him, observing the corpse with a heavy heart. He was once a friend to her and her brother. She’d seen him smile, seen him laugh. He’d been human just like them. A young man caught in the allure of legends and tales, seeking to leave his mark in history as his father did before him. The way he perished was cruel and unwarranted, an unforgivable sin worthy of punishment.  _ Damn them all for this.. _ . 

“We can’t just leave him here to rot,” Alistair uttered quietly, his resentment ebbing into sorrow. “He was royalty… A pyre would be appropriate.”

“Right...” 

They worked together to carefully lower his body, ignoring the state of decomposition he was in. They trudged back to the edge of the woods, far enough from the darkspawn to avoid interruptions to the ceremony. There, they gathered as many heavy pieces of wood they could find and piled them up, adding in dried brush to help light it. 

The sun was setting by the time they finished collecting what they needed, but they continued on, lying the corpse over the lumber on a bed of dried weeds and grass. Alistair knelt beside it and used his flint to set the makeshift pyre ablaze. As the fire spread, he stepped back to stand beside her, watching as they engulfed the wood and ultimately embraced their dead king. Their horse shifted behind them whilst they stared at the flames in silence, the flickering light reflecting over their tired eyes. 

_ He deserved to be put to rest in Denerim, surrounded by his subjects, not in the wilderness with just the two of us to mourn him,  _ Alistair thought bitterly, one hand closing tightly into a fist.  _ None of them deserved to die here. Not him and not Duncan or the others. I have to make their deaths count. I have to defeat Loghain! _

“I have decided to be king...” 

Surprised, Everil craned her head to him. “You will?”

He nodded once. “Whether I like it or not, I can’t run away from this... Not while Ferelden burns.” 

“I understand…” Everil took his hand and gently squeezed as she smiled up at him. “And I will help you in any way I can.”

Still a little unsettled by the idea, Alistair returned her smile and brought her hand up to kiss her fingers. “I was going to ask, anyway... I don’t think I’ll be able to do this alone.”

“Well you won’t be alone…”

“Thank you…”

Everil couldn’t tell exactly what changed his mind, but she’d just learned how much he’d changed. And at that moment, as she stared at his profile, illuminated by the firelight, the same strange feeling of dread that clawed at her in Redcliffe reared its ugly head once more. There was no telling if they’d be able to stay as they were if he ascended to the throne. He would no longer travel through Ferelden and the world with her as a Grey Warden. They wouldn’t have the simple life she thought they would after the end of the war. But as painful as it would be to not have him, she couldn’t let her personal feelings get in the way. Ferelden’s fate was at stake, which made this greater than herself. 

Still, even as she told herself duty always came first, her heartache and the fear of losing him remained.


	8. A Queen's Proposal

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ E _ _ veril peered out the carriage window  _ as the Fereldan plains passed before her, listening to the horses gallop over the dirt road. They were on their way to Denerim and towards Arl Eamon’s estate. She and Alistair traveled with him, while the rest of their party rode or trekked on foot behind them. 

They had spoken little about his decision since Ostagar, and Everil figured it was because the idea still wasn’t all that thrilling to him. The others didn’t question it, instead, following her lead as usual. She curiously glanced at him. He was sitting next to her, resting his chin on one hand and with an utterly bored expression on his face. 

At Eamon’s instruction, he begrudgingly relinquished the Grey Warden armor and replaced it with an umber gambeson over a white tunic, lined in wolf fur and finely made. Dark brown breeches took the place of his old black ones, while matching boots, also trimmed in fur went up to his calves. He even changed his cloak to a warmer, better made one, with a gold clasp to keep it in place. The expensive vestiges made him look more like a prince than a knight, and he was visibly uncomfortable with it all. 

“Loghain will be greeting us upon our arrival. Needless to say, we must play our cards right and keep the arguments for the Landsmeet,” Eamon spoke from his seat across from them.

“All I know is that I want to wring that traitor’s neck with my own hands,” Alistair muttered moodily. 

“Which is exactly why I’m telling you this, Alistair. You must maintain your composure no matter what happens.” The arl then turned his stern gaze towards her. “The same applies to you, Warden Everil. Based on what Teagan told me, Rendon Howe will undoubtedly be there as well. You mustn’t lose sight of our goal by focusing on vengeful thoughts. Everything can go horribly wrong if we fail.”

“I… understand,” she replied stiffly.

“The plan is to convince the Landsmeet that Alistair is the best choice. To demonstrate he has what is necessary to be the new king of Ferelden. In the meantime, we must prove that Loghain not only betrayed my nephew but is also no longer suited to hold a position of power.”

“I just want him to pay for what he did...” Alistair huffed, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. 

“And justice will come to him, son. Let us worry about one problem at a time, for now.” 

After another hour of travel, they reached Denerim, and the carriage stopped just outside the royal palace—their first stop to arrange a meeting amongst the lords. Eamon stepped out first, followed by Alistair, who offered her a hand with a slight smile on his face. The gesture caused her heart to skip a beat and the corners of her lips curled up as he helped her down.

Both trailed the arl, crossing the long courtyard to the castle as its imposing stone towers stood like giants over them. Banners with the royal seal flapped in the wind atop the walls surrounding them, while soldiers stood at both sides of their path, casting steely stares upon them. Their loyalties still lay with the regent and his daughter, while knowing nothing of the newcomer who was now claiming to be their late king’s brother. 

They were approaching the palace doors when Eamon stopped in his tracks, seeing their welcome party emerge from within. Loghain walked with a straight back as he regarded the three, his expression cold and calculating. Rendon Howe shadowed him closely, a retinue of well-armed soldiers accompanying them.

Alistair clenched his jaw at the sight of him, hatred rising within him. It took everything he had not to draw his sword as the man who betrayed them came to stand before them. Maker, he was but at arm's reach yet he couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t end him then and there. He drew in a deep breath.  _ Patience… _

“Eamon. It is good to see you. We heard you were… indisposed for some time,” Loghain greeted dryly, offering a hand to the old man. 

“It is an honor for the regent to greet us, sire.” He stiffly shook it. “And thank you for your concern, but I am feeling better than ever.”

“I see…” Loghain briefly glanced towards the two Wardens, appearing unfazed by their presence. “You risk a great deal with what you’re trying to do here, Eamon. The Landsmeet will never appeal to these murderers.” 

Eamon met his frigid glare, clasping both hands behind his back. “The claims against them are yours alone, Loghain… this slander must stop and we must all come together to battle the Blight before it is too late. That is why we are here... Ferelden needs a king to unify the lands.”

“Ferelden has a strong queen. She will lead her to victory against the Blight and all who threaten it.”

“Alistair is Maric's son. He has a more legitimate claim to the crown than your daughter and even you cannot deny that,” Eamon countered calmly. “Or have you forgotten what we sacrificed to ensure the throne return under Theirin rule?”

“You dare…” Loghain hissed with contempt. “I would never forget what was lost in that war. It is why I question your judgment, Eamon. Regardless of this boy’s claims, he remains unqualified to rule, while you seek to place our beloved country in his inexperienced hands.” He dangerously narrowed his eyes. “I will not allow anything to threaten Ferelden’s stability, even if he is Maric’s flesh and blood.”

“Threaten Ferelden’s stability?” Everil interjected angrily, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “You incited a civil war while the darkspawn trample over our lands!”

He glanced her way. “No one is talking to you, girl...”

Next to him, Howe chuckled darkly. “I must say, Eamon... I did not think that a man of your stature would deal with such classless vermin.” 

“Curse you, Howe…” Everil bit out, fists shaking at her sides as she glowered at him over the arl’s shoulder. She wanted nothing but to wipe that smirk off his face. To feel her blade sink into his flesh and watch his blood run. If only she could breach the scant distance between them. She was close. So close. And yet she couldn’t act against the man who slaughtered her entire family.

Everil felt Alistair grasp her wrist, his attention still on the men who wronged them. He stepped closer, gently loosening her fist to laze his fingers through hers. The reassuring action helped ease her flaring hunger for vengeance, while it also did the same for him.

“Let us leave the debates for the Landsmeet, shall we?” Eamon kept his composure despite the hostility between both parties. “We will meet again once the rest of the nobility arrives.”

“Very well…” Loghain lifted his nose as if addressing an ant beneath his boot. “Just pray to the Maker that you will not wind up spending the rest of your life locked away in Fort Drakon over this, Eamon. I would hate to see that happen to an old friend.”

The arl bit his tongue under the veiled threat, watching the general and his accomplice whirl about and return to the palace. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Arl Eamon’s estate was nearly as large as her family’s had been, well kept by the servants in his absence. Its stone walls rose above the rest of the smaller homes in the district, the iron gates guarded by soldiers he’d left behind to protect his property. Only powerful lords could have a residence in Denerim, all had either close ties to the crown or held a high enough title in the hierarchy to afford it. 

“The things I could steal if I were that kind of rogue…” Zevran mused out loud, admiring their surroundings as they strolled along the hall towards the guest rooms.

“Beautiful Fereldan decor, no?” Leliana smiled, walking beside him and Oghren. They and the rest of the group were a distance behind the Wardens and the arl, accompanied by the servants carrying their gear.

“Lots of dog stuff…” the dwarf grumbled, then looked up at Wynne, who was a step ahead of him. “So we're here to help prince charming get his crown... The same political bullshit we had in Orzammar.”

“In a way it is similar,” Wynne answered, glancing at him. “The Landsmeet is where the lords and ladies overseeing Ferelden's lands gather to make decisions that affect their homesteads. They debate and vote on matters where there is no clear direction for them. Their unified voices can easily overturn a king's directive or even topple their rule. That is why it is important to earn their support and loyalty.”

“Hrmph… Sounds like the Warden's gonna have a hard time. Good thing he's got that Eamon guy.”

“Only that may not be enough…” Leliana sighed.

“And we all happen to be in the lion's den, so to speak.” Zevran put on a hopeless grin, lacing his fingers behind his head. “If my lady and Alistair lose to this Loghain, I very much doubt he will just let us waltz out the city gates. We might end up sharing a cell until the Blight comes and kills us all.”

Oghren huffed. “Sodding great…”

After taking a few steps further, Eamon halted and turned to them. “You may all stay in whichever rooms you choose, as you did in my castle. Make yourselves at home, but I encourage you to remain within these walls unless it is necessary for you to go out into the streets. We want to avoid any brushes with Loghain’s supporters or his men.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Everil replied with a dip of her head before addressing them. “Come on. Let's choose where to sleep.”

“I call any room with ale in it!” Oghren declared with a raised hand.

Alistair made to walk with her, but the arl stopped him. “Alistair, you will stay in the family quarters with me,” Eamon instructed, then continued on his way, some of the servants following him.

His brow crinkled as he glanced at her. “But, I—”

“It's all right.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

“I'll see you later…” he sighed, patting her shoulder. 

With an unsettled expression, Alistair went quickly after the arl, leaving his party behind. Everil gazed at his retreating back for a moment, attempting to ignore the sting she felt. She whirled about, heading in the opposite direction.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Time was of the essence, so as soon as they settled in, the arl locked himself away in his study to think and strategize for hours. He sent ravens with letters to nobles he thought would be most willing to side with them. And scheduled meetings with those who were questionable or allied with Loghain. He hoped the conversations would be fruitful, but it would possibly take more than just talking to convince them.

A few hours after they finished leaving their belongings in their separate rooms, Eamon summoned both Wardens, the tone on the servant's voice carrying a hint of urgency. The maid led them to the study, their cloaks swaying with each hasty step. 

“I wonder what's happened…” Alistair muttered uncomfortably.

“Something important, no doubt,” said Everil.

They reached the wide oak door, hearing muffled voices coming from behind it. The servant opened it, allowing them entrance into a spacious office. A fireplace burned in a corner, its flames casting flickering light over everything therein. Two cloaked women stood side by side before the arl, halting their conversation when they walked in.

“You called for us, my lord?” Everil promoted quietly.

The women turned to face them, their faces hidden under hoods. “Yes, Warden,” Eamon replied, gesturing to the one standing next to him. “We have an important guest who has offered us her aid. I'm certain you have already met her.”

Delicate fingers reached up to pull back her cover, revealing beautiful features. Hair the color of barley framed her porcelain skin and clear blue eyes gazed at them, warm as the afternoon sky. She wore a lavish beige gown, adorned in glimmering gold embroidery, and encrusted with pale green gems.

“Queen Anora?” Everil breathed, surprised by her presence.

Anora cast an elegant smile upon the younger woman, her voice soft as silk. “It is good to see you again, Lady Everil. Though it would seem it is Warden now, no?”

“Yes…” She bowed, a fist to her chest. “It would seem so, Your Majesty.”

“And Alistair…” The queen’s stare then went to him as she took a few steps, folding her arms in front of him. “Who knew that the boy running through Arl Eamon’s castle was actually King Maric’s illegitimate son? I didn't even realize it was you when you came to Denerim a Grey Warden, seeking my late husband’s help against the Blight. Now, you return once more, this time for the crown. How very ambitious of you.” 

Everil cautiously scrutinized her, picking up on the hint of malice her words carried. There was no doubt in her mind that the queen felt threatened by him. After all, if Alistair were to prevail against her father, then that would leave her dethroned. 

“Good to see you again, Your Majesty.” Alistair bowed stiffly, also wary of her. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not here for my own ambition, but for Ferelden’s sake alone.”

“I see…” Her kind smile broadened as she looked him over with interest. “Quite admirable.”

“Uhm…” Alistair knitted his eyebrows, puzzled by her behavior. “Thank you…?”

Sensing the awkwardness in the room, the arl cleared his throat. “She has come in secret to offer us her support in the Landsmeet. Her voice will prove to be a powerful asset when we present ourselves before the rest of the nobility.”

“Yes...” Anora uncrossed her arms and clasped both hands over her skirts, standing with confidence. “As you well know, my father is considered a hero throughout Ferelden. His reputation has placed even me at a disadvantage. Were he fit to lead then I would not consider it a problem. Unfortunately, however, he appears to be a different man to the one I remember.” A soft breath escaped her. “Especially after having returned from the battlefield without… my dear husband.”

“I am surprised to hear you say such things, Your Majesty.” Everil put a hand on her hip, lifting a brow. “What makes you think your father is unfit?”

The queen shook her head and gazed worriedly at the floor. “His obsession with the Orlesian Empire has become nearly neurotic... He constantly speaks of how vulnerable we are to another invasion and rambles on about his fellow countrymen plotting against him. He believes his intentions to be righteous, even when he hurts those close to him.” Her expression turned anxious as she gripped the fabric of her dress. “I fear that if he finds out I came to aid you… That he may...”

“He wouldn’t hurt his only daughter, now would he?” Everil questioned.

“I do not know…” Anora replied through another sigh. “But I wish for it to remain that way. Even recently, I fear he has been doing terrible things. Especially to the elves in our Alienage.” 

“What?” Eamon's brow curled at this. “Do you have any details, my lady?”

“Only that there have been rumors of elves disappearing. They say there is a plague amongst them, but my contacts tell me something more is happening. I believe that if we find my father has something to do with it, we could help the elves and use that knowledge against him.”

“What do you say, Warden Everil?” Eamon turned to her. “This is important. And I believe you and your friends would be well suited to investigate. ”

“Of course.” Everil nodded. “I’ll take some in my party and go have a look.”

“I’ll come with you,” Alistair offered.

“I'm afraid not, Alistair,” Eamon interjected.

“Wait, what?” He shot the arl an annoyed glare. “My lord, I can’t just—”

“We cannot take risks with Loghain knowing of your presence in Denerim. He might try something against you.”

“I…” Alistair’s hands closed into fists, frustration in his eyes. “I understand.”

“Don’t worry…” Everil placed a hand on his arm, grinning reassuringly at him. “We can handle it. Besides, it’s probably better you stay here to keep the others in check.” 

He exhaled a breath and gave her a smile of his own. “All right...”

Anora watched their exchange curiously before moving her attention to the arl. “There is yet one more thing I wish to discuss, Eamon. I fear there is one condition you and Alistair must abide by to secure my vote.”

“Condition?” He lifted his eyebrows with surprise. “I thought you wished to help out of concern for your father, Your Majesty.”

“And I do, yes. But let us be blunt here.” A slight smirk formed over her features. “It would be foolish of me to simply offer my voice—while also going against my own interests—in exchange for nothing in return.”

_ There it is…  _ Everil scowled inwardly.  _ Of course she wants something out of this.  _

“I understand…” Eamon was apparently both impressed and intrigued by her words. “What is it you wish, Your Majesty?”

“Alistair possesses no experience in politics and has never held a position of power. I, however, have been queen for several years. My knowledge and expertise would be invaluable to him.” Anora put on a gentle smile, then glanced at an increasingly confused Alistair. “Therefore, I believe that the best way to bring stability back to Ferelden is for him to become her king through marriage to me. In doing so, I maintain my status as queen while he gains my support and counsel in return.”

“What…?” Alistair was thrown into a stupor.

Everil’s shocked expression mirrored his, all words suddenly stuck inside her throat. And as if the queen’s proposition were not troubling enough, Eamon dipped his head in agreement. “Your terms are certainly not beyond reason. In fact, I believe them to be a wise decision.”

“W-Wait…” Alistair stammered. “I… I haven't agreed to this.” 

“It is the most sensible approach, son.” Eamon smiled, liking the idea. “Such an arrangement would serve to our advantage.”

“It is a fair trade, Alistair,” Anora added, standing with her chin held high and one hand over the other. “We both win, as well as Ferelden.”

“Hold on… This is happening too fast.” Alistair nervously switched from the arl to the queen. “I can’t marry you, Your Majesty.”

“Why not?” Anora blinked and then gave him a gentle smile. “Think about it: The people know and love me, while to them you are a stranger. My people are already scared and unsure of their futures thanks to the Blight and my father's civil war. They need hope, not more uncertainty. Marrying me would make your coronation much less troubling for them, as well as for the nobility. Is that not what is best?”

A dull, suffocating pain grabbed ahold of Everil’s heart as she listened to them talk, frozen in place. She wanted to speak up, to tell them Alistair belonged to her and only her. But as much as she wanted to deny it, Anora’s words held a hard and definite truth. Ferelden needed a stable government if it was to regain any semblance of normalcy for its citizens. Alistair joining with Anora would be what was best for the country, especially after all the death and desperation the war will leave behind. 

Besides, there was no way the Landsmeet would favor her marrying the new king. For next to the queen, she was nothing but a glorified commoner. A noble who now owns nothing but her name alone after losing her lands and title to Howe. And the only way to reclaim them would be to kill him and for a new king to declare her rights over Highever restored. 

The knot in her throat was making it increasingly difficult to breathe, and although Alistair turned to her in alarm, begging silently for her help, Everil couldn't speak. “I, uhm…” he swallowed anxiously, wondering why she wouldn’t intervene as he returned his attention to the queen. “Wouldn't you feel uncomfortable? I mean… We don't even know each other.”

“Hm…” Anora walked up to him on steady steps, then brazenly cupped his cheek, admiring him as if he were a priced horse.

Alistair tensed, finding himself between a rock and a hard place. The woman he loved was clearly and rightfully upset, but if they spoke against the queen’s terms now, he risked ruining their chances of keeping her much needed support.  _ Maker… What should I do? What should I do! _

“I don’t think I would mind being with you at all,” Anora purred, sky blue pools meeting his amber ones. “In fact… I think it is convenient that you look so much like Cailan. It will make the… transition… much easier for me.”

“What…?” he whispered, deeply disturbed by her comparison.

“I’m heading for the Alienage now,” Everil blurted out as she made for the door. “Excuse me.” 

“Everil, wait!” Alistair called just as it slammed behind her.  _ Damn it! _

His hands closed into fists, yearning to go after her, yet somehow unable to move. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. He’d been left in this room with those who sought to control his life and he was powerless to stop it. 

“Is she all right?” 

He glanced towards Anora, seeing her concerned expression. And all he could do was sigh miserably, realizing that he didn’t have the answer to her question.


	9. Unrest in the Alienage

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ W _ _ alking with purposeful strides, Everil _ crossed the Denerim market with fists closed, heading for the Elven Alienage as per the arl’s request. Oghren, Leliana, and Zevran accompanied her, staring at her back as she led the way. Her mind was still replaying the queen’s proposal and the way she’d looked at Alistair as he stood there, rooted to the spot as she touched him. And she had no idea how to deal with how she felt. _ I need to get it together…  _ she thought, scowling angrily at no one in particular. _ I can’t let my emotions cloud my judgment. Not now. _

“Is it just me, or is the boss lady angry at somethin’?” Oghren muttered quietly to Zevran, trying not to let her hear as they struggled to keep up with her hasty pace.

“I was wondering the same thing…” answered the elf.

“Yes… Something’s wrong.” Leliana stared at her worriedly. “It could be because of Alistair… They haven’t been together much since Redcliffe. It seems Arl Eamon has kept them apart with the constant preparations for the Landsmeet.”

“Aah… The burdens of duty have suddenly bled into the bedroom.” Oghren snickered playfully. “I know the feeling... She’ll get over it as soon as pretty boy gets a chance to give her a tumble.”

But Leliana wasn’t all that convinced that was the case. There was a lot their Warden friends haven't told them after Alistair's sudden decision to take the throne, but things were about to change because of it and Everil wouldn't be able to stop it. She made a mental note to speak with her when they return to the arl's estate. Perhaps she could help her by lending her an ear. 

They approached the gates to the Alienage and opened them, entering the poorest part of Denerim. The Warden and her group crossed the stone bridge over a canal bordering the Alienage, her steps now more subdued as she looked on towards the rundown buildings ahead. 

Rickety wooden huts and apartments made sharp contrast with the homes outside the walls hiding them from view, all poorly built and with patches of wood or mud covering cracks and holes. The scent of dirt and sweat wafted to their noses when they went into the streets, a smell sharpened by how narrow they were and how clumped together the elves had to live in such a small district.

A saddened look fell over Everil’s features. She’d heard much about how elves lived in alienages, but this was the first time she’d seen one in person. City elves were cursed to live in poverty, mostly because they were not allowed positions of power and were very much glorified slaves who offered their servitude to wealthier humans for a meager amount of coin. Very few made it out from beneath man’s foot, and those who did usually managed by stepping over others of their kind. 

It was a situation she didn’t exactly agree with, more so now that she was seeing it first hand. 

“Reminds me of Dust Town…” Oghren said as he gazed about. “Though there ain’t no elves in the streets.”

“Where are they?” Leliana wondered with knitted brows. 

“Maybe this plague hit their numbers hard,” Zevran added, picking up the pace to catch up with Everil. “Which brings me to ask, my lady… Shouldn’t we be worried about this sickness we heard about?” He smiled nervously. “I mean... If it is affecting elves, I’m wondering if I should be concerned myself.”

Everil glanced his way. “The queen received conflicting information and there have not been any darkspawn attacks in Denerim… Just stay alert and keep your distance until we find out more.”

The sound of sobbing and angry shouting eventually reached their ears as they neared the town square. They paused, looking towards a crowd of elves gathered near a noble tree at its center, which the city elves venerated as part of their religious traditions. 

Zevran crossed his arms. “Well… there’s everyone.”

They were standing near a single building, all dressed in rags and with soiled faces as they screamed at two robed men guarding a door. They had blood-red and yellow vestments and hooded heads, both carrying a staff on their backs and severe expressions.

“Please, I just want to see my son!” an older, elven woman pleaded.

“Let us through!” a male cried. 

A redheaded elf with short hair and a tan dress made her way through the mob, pushing through her neighbors. “Where’s Elder Valendrian!” she demanded, glaring directly at one of the mages. “We know you’re holding him in there! Let him go right now or else!”

“Tell him Shianni!” yelled a boy standing near her.

“We will do no such thing,” the mage calmly replied, unafraid of her feeble threat. “They are being treated at this time. Letting them out will only endanger the rest of you.”

“Rubbish, shem!” Shianni snapped with fists at her sides. “You keep telling us you’re trying to help. That you’re curing them. But it’s been weeks and we haven’t seen any of them! Now, either let us in or let them out or you’ll have to deal with all of us!”

The mage scowled and lowered his head, staring coldly into her green eyes. “You lot try anything and we’ll be forced to use force. We were brought here to help contain this plague and if we have to keep you in check until we do, then that’s what we’ll do. Now walk away.”

Shianni clenched her jaw. “You can’t just—”

“I said walk away!” he cut her off, summoning a ball of flames into his hand. 

The elves backed up, startled and afraid. Except for Shianni, who kept her glare set on his.

“What’s happening here?” 

Everyone turned to the new arrivals as Everil and the others went through the crowd. They let her through, eyeing her with surprise. 

“Is that a Grey Warden?” said one elf.

“I thought they were all dead...” another murmured.

The mage at the door dispelled his magic and folded his arms, his anger ebbing away. “This is a hospice and we are trying to help these people by caring for their sick. A plague has emerged and we were asked by the crown to treat the ill and contain it. They, however, believe that we are keeping their loved ones from them, when in fact we are following protocol.”

“If that’s the case, then why haven’t we seen any of the first you took inside,” Shianna challenged.

Everil gazed at her. “For how long has this been occurring? And what is this sickness that’s spreading?”

“Two months,” she answered with a sigh. “It’s… a cough and a fever. We don’t know where it came from, but these mages said it’s blight-related. Still, we should at least know by now if we’ve lost anyone or if they’ve recovered, but so far these bloody shemlens haven’t told us anything.”

“I want to come inside,” Everil suddenly told the mage.

The man’s features hardened into a scowl. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Warden. We will not take any risks. Please do not force the issue, or we will have you imprisoned for interfering with our duties.”

With an annoyed look of her own, Everil turned to the elven girl and grabbed her by the arm. “Come with me.”

Shianni begrudgingly complied, allowing the Warden to pull her away from the crowd and towards their sacred tree. The others in her party went after them. Once out of earshot, she released her hold on her and faced her.

“Tell me…” Everil uttered, arms crossed. “How many have they taken inside?”

Sending the hospice a cautious look, Shianni licked her lips and spoke. “They’ve taken much of the Alienage. Those you see standing here are all that’s left. They took our elder too… just recently.” She sighed and gazed pleadingly at her. “Please, Warden… You have to help us. We’re nothing to the shems outside these walls so no one will care about a few missing elves. The only reason these arseholes are here is because the crown was worried we’d infect others. It certainly wasn’t out of the kindness of their hearts.”

Everil nodded with a sympathetic stare. “I intend to help… However, I can’t force my way in through those two. I want to avoid any conflict with the city guard or any casualties that may arise from it. Do you know if there’s another way into the building? One not so well guarded?”

A hint of relief fell over the girl’s features. “Oh, thank you…!” She looked around and then whispered. “There’s a back entrance… It’s guarded by a single soldier. Maybe you can make your way in through there?”

“We could incapacitate him… One is better than two,” Leliana offered.

“Or we could kill him… no one needs to know,” Oghren suggested with a snicker.

Zevran grinned at the dwarf. “I like the way you think, my friend.”

“We’ll deal with it when we get there,” Everil said to them, then patted Shianni’s shoulder. “You wait here. Keep the others calm until I find out what’s happening.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

They crossed the square to the side of the building, receiving a cautious glance from the mages guarding the front entrance. Their path took them through a small alleyway as they headed to the back of the hospice. As Shianni said, a single soldier wearing the same red and yellow garb stood by the backdoor, armed with a sword and shield. He saw them as they approached, his hand going for his blade. “Who are you? What are you doing back here?”

“I could ask the same question,” Everil replied as they came to a stop in front of him. “You’re no mage, yet you’re dressed in a different armor from Denerim’s soldiers. Step aside and let us through. I want to see what you and your friends are doing with the elves.”

He glanced at her companions, finding himself outnumbered. “I… I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Everil drew her sword, aiming the tip at his throat. “I’m giving you the choice to save your own life. Don’t make me ask you again.”

The guard swallowed and slowly lowered his hand before moving away from the door. 

“Good man,” she said, sheathing her blade. 

The party entered the worn-down building and what they found inside made them pause. Iron cages hung from the ceiling, holding elves inside. Men, women, and children clung to the bars, quivering in fear. Meanwhile, three men stood near them, turning to face them. One of them armed himself with a blade. “What are you—”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Everil drew her weapon again.

“Kill them! Don’t let them out of here alive!” he roared.

They charged at the Warden, and her party swiftly cut them down. Blood sprayed the floorboards as they fell, their cries alerting the two mages who were standing outside. They burst in, staves at the ready. 

“You should not have interfered!” the one from before cried out, summoning his magic. But Zevran and Leliana were already on them, killing them before he could cast.

“Help us, please! Get us out of here!” a man called from his cage.

Everil approached him, eyeing the condition they were in. “Are any of you sick?”

“No, Grey Warden,” he answered desperately. “They put us here against our will! We were just… taken from our homes in the middle of the night. These men were moving others to another building too. From there… we don’t know what happens. We just never see them again.”

“Where is this building?” she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

He shook his head. “I have no idea... We didn’t see where they took them. They’d just speak about moving them to the back of the Alienage, near the docks.”

“All right,” Everil sighed, then turned to Zevran and Leliana. “Pick the locks and let them out.”

“Right.” Leliana produced a lock pick from her bag and went to the first cage. 

While they were releasing the elves from their confinement, Everil walked up to a nearby table, inspecting it. A folded piece of paper caught her eye. She opened it, finding a key inside and something scribbled over it. “Maker…” she breathed, horrified.

“What is it?” Leliana looked over at her. 

“They are shipping the elves elsewhere. That’s why they have been disappearing from the Alienage. This note asks for a specific number of males and females and it provides directions to where they’re shipping them from.” Everil grabbed it, stashing it in her pack along with the key. “Come on. We need to stop them before they take any more of them.”

After letting the elves out of their prisons, they hurried out, heading for the back alleys.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Another man in red cried out as he fell, blood oozing from his open chest. With a determined scowl, Everil stepped over him and his downed comrades as she and her party stalked through the decrepit hallways of an apartment building. Sick elves hid in their rooms as they passed, whispering in fear about the abductions and nightly raids on their homes. Whatever happened here couldn’t have occurred if someone hadn’t allowed it. And she had an idea of who was responsible.

“Poor sods… No one outside gave a damn about them vanishing,” Oghren grumbled, wiping blood from his cheek. “Except maybe your queen, it seems.”

“City elves are treated as second class citizens by humans…” Leliana said sadly, trying to ignore the sour stench of body odor mixed with musky wood and dirt that filled the place. “I would say many others in the city would probably shed no tears if they were all gone one day.”

“Not only here in Ferelden, but in other countries too,” Zevran added with a hopeless smile. “Ah… Maybe the Dalish have the right idea… even with all the moving around they do.”

Eventually, they made it out of the apartments and through the back door, exiting into another alley. Darkness shrouded the area, but they could see a set of double doors leading into the building on the other side. They went to it as Everil produced the key they’d found in the hospice. She opened them and entered on confident strides, her blade in hand. And the group paused after a few steps when several enemies greeted them, led by a female elf.

“What’s this? The rats that have been interfering with our operation?” she asked with folded arms. She had short, black hair, her lithe body clad in hardened leathers, a bow strapped to her back, and a pair of daggers hanging from her hips.

Everil aimed her sword at her with a questioning glare. “You’re an elf… Why are you helping these men take those of your kin?”

The woman chuckled. “My name is Devera and I am Tevinter first and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second, Warden. I hold no loyalty to these elves.”

“Tevinter…” Everil narrowed her eyes at the revelation. “What does the Tevinter Imperium have to do with this? What are you doing in Ferelden?”

Devera shrugged. “We came on business. These elves were sold to us, you see. We are simply taking what is ours.”

“Who sold them to you?” she demanded angrily.

“That you will have to find out on your own… provided you survive.” She drew her daggers and dropped into a fighting stance. The men around her also prepared their weapons.

Everil pulled out her dagger. “You will regret ever coming here, Tevinter.”

With a battle cry, Devera darted forth and swung, their blades connecting as her soldiers engaged her party. Everil parried her dagger, then ducked and swung, nearly catching her in the stomach. She blocked a hit, then kicked at her leg, knocking her off balance and onto a knee. Devera brought up her blades in a criss-cross, blocking a downward slash from the Warden’s sword. They hit and blocked, swerved and evaded, their movements swift until the elf missed a step. Everil’s sword found her gut and she fell on her knees, gasping at the pain. A dagger came after, swooshing over her throat and slicing it open before crimson spurted on Everil’s armor. Devera fell on her side, her brown eyes still open in shock. The rest of the men lay dead, slain by the others.

They didn’t stop for long, crossing the room to the next door over. Everil burst through, her sight immediately landing on the large cages in what looked to be a warehouse. More elves stood inside, staring back at her with a mixture of rear and relief. 

“Grey Warden!” an old man called, grasping the bars. 

She made to go to them when someone’s voice halted her. “Grey Warden Everil Cousland… We were warned about you.”

Everil glared down from her spot above the steps leading to the lower level of the warehouse, where a bald man with a black beard stood with three other men behind him. He wore robes and wielded a staff, though his outfit was far more embellished than that of the rest. She gripped her weapons tightly and descended as her party followed, their steps echoing inside the room. “I wager you’re the one leading this operation,” she said, stopping a distance from him.

He dipped his head. “You guessed correctly. I am Magister Caladrius, of the Minrathous Circle of Magi and I have come on behalf of my circle on business. What you think is happening here is not what it appears.”

“Is that so?” Her eyes darkened. “What  _ is  _ going on here then?”

“To put it simply, we were hired. We are gathering slaves that a powerful fellow here in your country sold to us at a good price.”

“I got that much from your elven servant earlier…” she answered cooly. “Who sold you the elves?”

He sighed. “I suppose it is no use to keep the information from you. It was Regent Loghain who sought us out and made a deal with us.”

“What?” Leliana gasped. 

Oghren scoffed. “A traitor and now a slave trader… The guy sure’s great.”

But while the revelation surprised the others, Everil wasn’t at all shocked. Somehow, Loghain had managed to be at the top of everything wrong happening in the country. And if it wasn’t his name the one mentioned, then it was Howe’s. “Why did he do it?” she asked, sharp as a blade. 

“We don’t ask many questions…” He gave her a half-smirk. “Just know that whatever preconceptions you may have towards slavery… these elves would live better lives in Tevinter than the ones they have here now. We offer education, food… a roof over their heads... all in exchange for their servitude.”

“Only this was not their choice… Someone else made it for them and is hurting them and their loved ones,” she countered, preparing her blades. “I don’t care what dreams you offer. I won’t allow you to take them.”

Calandrius raised a hand to her, retaining his calm tone despite her threat. “I know what you and your friends are capable of and I do not wish to turn to barbarism to resolve this minor dispute. I have a proposal to make.”

Her eyebrows pinched, suspicion in her stare. “What is it?”

“I understand that what your Regent did is… frowned upon in your country. And given the current political situation… I imagine you will need proof of his dealings with us to bring him to justice. I have a letter I can give you… signed by him, implicating him in this transaction.” He smirked confidently. “If you let me take these elves and pay me for the rest, then I will give you the letter and be on my way. Everyone wins.”

“Except for them,” she replied moodily. “I’m willing to bargain with you, but not at their expense.”

“Tch, tch, tch…” He clicked his tongue and sighed. “I can’t leave without them. I would lose money in that instance.”

“How much did you pay Loghain?” 

“Hmm…” He pensively ran a hand down his beard. “We paid two hundred sovereigns for the slaves…”

Oghren let out a whistle. “Ancestor’s balls… Do we even have that kind of coin, boss?”

Everil pressed her lips into a line. That was almost all the coin they had on them. She searched for ways to bring down the price, to somehow get what they wanted without putting the imprisoned elves in danger. An idea occurred to her. "Did Loghain sell you the elves healthy or ill?"

He frowned in puzzlement. “We… were aware of the illness, though the knowledge came after we were already here…”

“So you paid him for healthy slaves. Elves who can begin earning their value in coin as soon as they reach Tevinter.” Speaking of the elves as if they were things didn't sit well with her. “That means you already lost money on the deal. And if I were to buy them from you, then their value would no longer be the two hundred sovereigns you paid. As a man of business, you must know and honor this.”

Surprise dawned over him and he released a deep, amused chuckle. “My, but you are a smart one. I can see why those in power are intimidated by your presence here.” He sighed. “Very well… A hundred and fifty sovereigns is my offer.”

“Ninety.”

Calandrius scoffed. “Don't insult me, girl. A hundred and twenty five is the lowest I will go. And you will also have your letter.”

Everil nodded, sheathing her blade. It may not be the price she wanted, but they were getting what they needed and more. “You have a deal.”

“Good. See? No need to resort to violence.” He walked up to her and extended his hand. 

She crossed her arms. “Free them first, then I give you the coin.”

An annoyed look crossed his face, and he turned to the men. “Do as she says.”

They released the elves from their cages, allowing them to run out of the room, some helping the sick as they hobbled away. Once they were gone, Everil produced her pouch of coin and completed the transaction, receiving the letter in exchange.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Grey Warden…” He dipped his head with an unsettling smile.

She scowled. “Just leave Ferelden and don’t come back. If you do, I expect the next monarch won’t be as welcoming to you as Loghain.”

“Of course. We appreciate the warning.” Calandrius spun about and sauntered to the double doors behind him, where his ships awaited his return in the docks.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The Warden and her party emerged from the alleys and into the town square, where the elves were joyfully receiving their loved ones. Shianni and an old man stood by their tree, waiting for them as they came. A grin curled the corners of his lips, kindness in his stare. 

“You don’t know how relieved I am that you came when you did.” Shianni smiled gratefully at them, clasping her skirts. “You saved us. I never thought a shem would help us ‘knife-ears’...”

Everil gave them a warm smile of her own. “Not all of us hold such narrow-minded beliefs… I happen to think you deserve better.” 

“You sound very much like Duncan,” said the old man. 

“You knew him?” 

He offered her a hand. “I am Elder Valendrian. I lead and counsel our people.”

She shook it. “Everil. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Duncan was a friend of mine. He used to visit us often...” he sighed sadly. “His was a terrible loss...”

Everil’s eyes solemnly fell. “He was a good man.”

“He gave me this long ago, as a gesture of friendship.” Valendrian reached for the dagger at his hip, drawing it. “I deeply appreciate what you did for us. So I want you to have it.”

She gingerly took it, awed by its design. Blue vitriol accentuated a steel hilt, forming patterns resembling the feathers of a griffon’s wings. It had Duncan’s lingering presence as if it had once been part of him. Her gaze went to him. “Are you… sure?” 

He nodded. “You are now a friend to us city elves, lass. As Duncan gave that blade to me, I give it to you as a symbol of our new friendship. I am certain that he would have wanted you to have it too.”

In slow reverence, Everil drew her dagger and handed it to Zevran before sheathing Duncan’s in its place. She may not have known her mentor for very long, but having his old weapon gave her a sense of pride. She would honor him by wielding it against the darkspawn. “Thank you…” she said, smiling at Valendrian before turning to her party. “Come. We have to return to the arl’s estate and tell him what we found.”

After saying their goodbyes, they made their way out of the Alienage. They trekked through the streets as the elves waved them by, brightness returning to their dirt-dusted faces. And Everil wondered if once they defeat Loghain and the Blight, perhaps the new king could find a way to better their lives. The thought of him made her chest ache again, and she clenched her jaw.  _ Get a hold of yourself...  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Rescue the Queen

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ s the sun began to set by the time Everil _ and her companions returned to the estate with proof of what happened in the Alienage. Loghain had been selling elves to Tevinter as slaves, which was a crime in Ferelden as the majority saw slavery as barbaric and an abuse of power. So regardless of the reason behind his decision, the crime would surely prompt many nobles to turn their backs on him in disgust.

But although what she witnessed was horrible, there were other matters that also troubled her. A storm of emotions raged inside her, robbing her of the ability to think clearly no matter how many times she told herself to focus. 

They were taking the man she loved from her and there was nothing she could do to stop them. No... She was  _ letting  _ them take him away. Because she had to. Because others needed him just as badly if not more than she did.

Before she knew it, the Warden found herself hesitating in front of Arl Eamon’s office, hearing Alistair’s voice coming from behind the door. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, as the walls muffled their words. Drawing a deep breath to steel herself, she gathered her broken thoughts and reached for the doorknob. “I've returned.”

“Everil…” Alistair shot up from his chair and cast distraught eyes on her as she entered. 

But she forcefully kept her stare away from him, setting it instead on the arl. “What did you find, Warden Everil?” Eamon asked from behind his desk. 

“It was worse than we thought.” She let out a soft breath, finding her report still difficult to believe. “The elves were disappearing, but it had nothing to do with the plague. The plague was just a cover Loghain used to sell them to Tevinter slave traders.”

“Andraste's mercy...” He rose to his feet. “Are you certain of this?”

“Yes. I have a letter, signed by him, specifically addressing the slave trader, as well as records of past transactions made." Everil moved toward him, producing the documents and handing them over. “This is everything.”

“Now, that's just… disturbing,” Alistair grimaced, revolted by it all. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“I don’t know…” she answered stiffly over the shoulder. “All I know is that he sold the entire Alienage. And that regardless of his reasons, this cannot go ignored by the Landsmeet."

“I agree…” Arl Eamon sighed and shook his head in dismay. “Maker forgive me… But although this is terrible, it is thanks to this that we may be able to prove how dangerous he is. We must—”

The door then burst open, surprising them. A cloaked woman panted for breath in the doorway—the same one who had accompanied the queen before. She shakily pulled down her hood, revealing herself a dark-haired elf with fair skin and maroon eyes, her pink dress dusted with dirt. “Arl Eamon!” 

“What is it, Erlina?” he asked, stepping around his desk to her. “What’s wrong?”

“My queen! She’s been captured!” she responded in a panic.

Eamon scowled at this. “What? By whom?” 

“Teyrn Rendon Howe…” The elf wrung her anxious hands, beads of sweat sliding down her brow. “I-I fear at Teyrn Loghain’s orders!” 

“Howe…” Everil echoed hatefully. That weasel seemed to have his hands deep in Loghain's affairs, often doing the dirty work for him. They had to stop them, and soon. With this in mind, she shot the elf a sharp stare. “How did this happen? Explain now.”

Erlina swallowed, turning desperately to her. “We were on our way to tell you about a Grey Warden who is imprisoned in Howe’s estate, but he somehow found us before we could get here! He has taken her to the Highever estate!”

“A Grey Warden?” Alistair questioned in surprise. “Who is it? What’s his name?”

“I do not know…” She shook her head. “We only know he was captured at around the same time Ostagar fell. We were told by our informant that he has been asking after you and Ser Duncan ever since, Ser Alistair.”

“Blast it…!” He turned to Everil in alarm. “We have to help him, whoever he is.”

Everil nodded. “Right…” 

The elf frowned. “What about my queen? Please, you must save her!”

“Are they both in the same location?” Everil asked the maid.

“Yes. But her Majesty is in one of the guest rooms while your Warden friend is being held in the dungeon.”

“That used to be my family’s estate so I know the layout of the upper floors. I’ve never been in the dungeon, however.” Everil crossed her arms, a pensive expression on her face. “I may be able to get them both out of there, but we’ll need a plan and a map of the lower levels.” 

“I'm going with you this time," Alistair asserted firmly. 

“No, boy,” Eamon interjected. “I have already instructed you to remain here for safety’s sake.”

Alistair met his gaze, this time standing his ground. “I’m sorry, but I'm a Grey Warden first, my lord. I won't abandon one of my brothers and I won’t leave it all up to Everil to handle on her own. You're going to have to trust me and let me do my job.”

Pausing for a moment, Eamon eyed his stubborn expression while realizing his words rang true. He had definitely grown from the insecure child he raised to a man of honor and principle. Sheltering him would only be an insult to his pride and judgment, while Alistair needed both if he was to have the confidence required to be king. He let out a long sigh and spoke. “Very well… But you mustn't take unnecessary risks, understand?”

Alistair put on a lopsided smile. “I’ve survived fighting monsters, I'm sure I can handle a few guards.”

“I…” Erlina cleared her throat, much calmer now. “I know my way into the estate, as well. And the soldiers know me from our visits there… I think it would be best if the two of you focus on rescuing your friend and create a diversion for the queen and me to escape.”

Everil placed a hand to her chin in contemplation. “That sounds like a good plan, but we’ll need a quick way in and an even faster way out. Howe is likely to have a lot of soldiers guarding the place.”

“I can arrange for that and help with your way in, too,” she replied with a nod. “I will need a bit of time to gather everything we’ll need, but we should probably do this tonight. Just meet me in the mansion’s gardens when you’re ready.”

“All right then. I will go make preparations of my own and see you there," Everil responded.

“Good luck, Grey Wardens," Eamon said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Return with the queen as quickly as you can.”

“We will.” Everil immediately went to the door, Alistair following behind her.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Their hurried steps echoed in the hall as she and Alistair headed for the guest quarters, where the rest of their companions were staying. It was just the two of them now after a long while of constantly being surrounded by servants, the arl, or their friends. He missed her. And after the troubling discussion with the queen hours ago, all he wanted was to speak with her and make sure she was all right. To tell her how much he loved her and offer some reassurance—for both her and himself. 

“Everil, wait...” he called for her.

But she kept walking ahead of him, shoulders stiff and trying her best to keep her mind set on their task. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to listen. All she wanted was to finish what they started. To get it all over with so she could deal with her aching heart in peace. 

“I said wait!" He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. "Please stop avoiding me!” 

Everil froze, pulse racing and her chest unbearably tight. She swallowed the knot in her throat, refusing to look at him. “We don't have time for this, Alistair. The queen—”

“Forget the queen!”

She whirled around, her stunned gaze meeting his.

“I won't marry her...” He pleadingly stared into her eyes. “I don't want to marry her.”

“You don't have a choice,” she countered weakly.

“But I do have a choice! I'll just explain everything to the arl. I'm sure we can find a way through this without her.”

“You… You know that’s not possible.” Everil glared up at him, doing her best to hide the pain straining her voice. Here she was, trying to do the right thing, and he was making it more difficult by talking to her. By forcing her to face him when all she wanted was to lock herself away and weep and forget about it all. “You need her help... Without her support, the Landsmeet will never accept you as the successor to the throne.”

“Then I’ll give up the crown...” he uttered stubbornly, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I don't want to be king if I can’t be with you.”

“No…” Everil reluctantly withdrew, anguish twisting her features. “You can’t choose me over Ferelden... I would never forgive myself if you did.”

“Everil…” Suddenly Alistair felt lost. Cast into uncharted waters with nothing to guide him. All he could think about was that he didn't want to lose her. That he yearned for nothing more than to stay by her side no matter what—against Loghain, against the Blight, against everything that came their way. “Then, please… Please just tell me what I need to do…” he begged miserably. “Without you, I can't—!”

“It's over!” 

It was as if someone had thrown icy water over his head, and he let out a single, dry chuckle, pure disbelief on his face. “W... What?”

“It’s… It’s over…” Everil repeated, turning away from his pain-stricken expression and casting her afflicted gaze upon the ground. It was taking everything she had not to fall apart before him, to will herself to keep it together while inside she was crumbling. “I... I cannot... be with you anymore… I'm sorry…”

“But I…” Alistair whispered, his words barely audible despite the surrounding silence. His entire world was turning upside down, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Everil felt unshed tears burn in her eyes as she guiltily watched him shatter into a million pieces. But she told herself it was both for his sake and for Ferelden’s. That it was best to end it now and let him move on with his life as soon as possible, even if it felt as if she were dying. As if someone had reached into her ribcage and mercilessly torn out her heart, only to set it aflame and watch it burn into nothingness.  _ It hurts… It hurts so much… _

“I'm sorry…” she whimpered, pressing a hand to her chest as she forced down a sob. She whirled about and resumed her hasty trek down the hall, desperately seeking to put some distance between them.

Alistair watched her go without saying another word, frozen like a statue while attempting to put himself back together. He wanted to protest, to go straight to the arl and defy him and the queen. But as much as he hated to admit it, Everil was right about everything. He couldn’t give up on his task, not while so many people needed him. Not while he owed it to those who died in Ostagar to see it through.

Once again, they’d deprived him of the life he wanted. Gone was his happiness and joy, replaced with nothing but the crippling weight of duty his blood carried. And he realized then that perhaps their relationship had was doomed from the start and they were too blind to see it. As their leader, Everil had her burdens to carry, as he did now. And she too would always place responsibility ahead of all else. Duty above what was best for her. She would do whatever was necessary to uphold her oath to defeat the Blight and protect her country. Even if that meant tearing them apart to do it.

_ Damn it all…  _ Slowly, his hands closed into tight fists, shaking with the tension as he bit back a growl. Alistair cursed himself for not realizing sooner that his decision would cause him to lose that which he treasured most. And cursed her for not having been selfish for once and stopped him. Yet despite the agony and anger he felt at her seemingly cruel dismissal, he couldn't find it in himself to regret ever falling in love with her. 

With heavy steps, Alistair headed to the front doors as the walls passed him by in a blur. They still had a long road ahead. A fellow Grey Warden needed their help, they had a fake king to overthrow, and a Blight to stop. He could only hope he’d be able to bear being so close to her until the end.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was the middle of the night when the party of four made their way through the back roads of Denerim. All of them wore hoods over their heads, hiding their identities while traveling to Howe’s estate. Leliana and Zevran eyed the two Wardens from behind as they followed them, taking notice of their change in behavior. Alistair trudged behind Everil as she led them, neither of them talking, and both with shoulders slumped and hanging heads.

Zevran edged towards the redhead, whispering behind one hand. “You think something happened between them?”

“Evy said Alistair will have to marry the queen…” Leliana answered just as quietly. 

The elf glared daggers at the back of Alistair’s head. “I thought he said he loved her…”

Leliana sighed sadly. “I don't believe it is Alistair’s fault. Everil is trying to make sure he gets the crown, so she is making him go along with it.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Perhaps because she thinks it's the right thing to do? One must sometimes make sacrifices for the good of all.” Another soft breath left her lips. “It’s such a shame… They were so good together.”

After a few more miles, the group approached the outside of the mansion, keeping to the shadows as they snuck in through the garden. It was a lavish house, made of white and gray stone, its walls and windows alight with the glow of the torches and the full moon above. Erlina spotted them from her place by manicured bushes and whistled, beckoning them to her. She then hid behind the cover of the plants, kneeling by a pile of armor with Howe’s family crest on them.

The group hurried and ducked under the same cover, getting close as the maid whispered, “We must move quickly. Howe is inside at the moment.” 

“He is…?” Everil’s eyes narrowed. 

The elf nodded. “Yes. He seems to have his guard up, as well. I have yet to see him walk the house without guards accompanying him everywhere.”

“That won’t matter…” Everil muttered, venom dripping from every word.

Upon hearing her, Alistair worriedly glanced at her, seeing the murderous glint in her stare. He regarded the maid. “So… we have disguises. How do we get inside?”

“You will need to wear the armor here to blend in. I can distract the guard by the door to the kitchens and let you in through there. The staff will not notice the difference if you keep your helmets on. Once we reach Her Majesty, you can continue on to the dungeons and use this to draw attention to yourselves.” She produced a tiny ball full of black powder, handing it over to Everil. “It’s a small bomb you can use as a decoy. It should be loud enough to draw the guards to you. I will know your diversion worked when they ring the bell of alarm.”

“Zevran, you take it,” Everil said, passing the item over to the elf. “Don’t use it until I tell you to.”

“Go it.” He nodded, then stashed it in his side pouch.

Erlina then produced a key and a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Here is a map to your way out. I marked the gate that leads out of the dungeon from the back of the estate. It will be locked, but this key opens it.”

“Huh…” Alistair was mildly impressed. “You thought of every detail, it seems.”

“Of course I did… I am my lady’s most trusted servant for a reason," she said, then faced the other Warden. “We must hurry and go inside.”

“Wait. I have a few adjustments to your plan," Everil interjected as she reached up to slide off the hood of her cloak. “Even if you reach the room where the queen is being held captive, there is no guarantee we will make it to the dungeon—even while wearing the armor. We need something more convincing…” 

Erlina quirked her eyebrows. “What would that be?” 

“Howe and his men want me captured or dead, so I can use that to our advantage.” Everil glanced over her shoulder at her companions. “Zevran and Leliana will disguise themselves and fool the guards into believing they captured me. They can then take me to the dungeon without trouble. Once we're there, we will create the distraction you need.”

Zevran snickered. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“What about me?” Alistair questioned, already disliking the plan. 

Everil shifted her sharp gaze to him, the ache in her chest hidden behind a look of determination. “You will put on the armor and wait here for the guards to sound the alarm. Once those outside start rushing into the mansion, you will run in with Erlina. A single guard will not draw as much attention and you can protect the queen should things go awry.”

Erlina then cut in, confused by the change. “But the Grey Warden called specifically for Ser Alistair. Shouldn’t he be coming with you?”

“I agree with her," Alistair reproached. “Maker knows what he’s been through. He might not trust you if he’s never met you. Not to mention that I don't much like you going in without me.” Then he released a breath, his stare carrying a mixture of resentment and pain. “That’s the whole reason I came along. Because I thought we were in this together... Unless you forgot already.”

“Alistair…” Everil swallowed at the hint of bitterness in his words. She couldn’t blame him for being angry with her but now was not the time. Her features softened, and she gazed up at him, trying to appease him. 

Yet it was a look that only made his heartache even worse.

“As much as you hate to hear this, it’s too dangerous for you to come with us,” she softly said, staying firm despite the awkwardness between them. “You and the queen have to leave this place as quickly as possible. So you must make sure to just get in and get out.” 

“Everil… Howe will be waiting for you.” Conflicting feelings coursed inside him as he reached for her hand and squeezed it. He wanted to be angry and act like he didn’t care, but the latter was impossible, and his deep concern for her overshadowed the former. 

“I am hoping for that...” She gently pulled her hand away and lightly drew her family’s sword, the moonlight reflecting over the sharp edge before she snapped it back into place. Everil then turned to the others. “Get ready. We are going in.”

As instructed, all slid into the armor except for Everil and the maid. Once they disguised themselves, the Warden nodded to Zevran and Leliana. “Let's go.”

Alistair anxiously watched her walk away, followed by their companions while pretending to have her hands bound behind her back. She was going into the den of the man who’d killed her entire family and robbed her of everything they owned. No one in her position could ever handle this situation without their emotions possibly clouding their judgment.

And as much as he didn’t want to admit it at the moment, he still loved her. If anything were to happen to her…

The maid glanced up at him from beside him, nervously wringing her skirt between her hands. They waited patiently until she and their friends entered the estate, disappearing from sight. 


	11. Rescue the Queen II

⚜

  
  
  
  


_“M_ _ove it!”_

“I'm going already!” Everil snapped as they shoved her through the door.

They crossed the hallways of the estate without a problem, receiving smirks from the passing soldiers as they laughed at her apparent misfortune. But she was too busy staring at the familiar surroundings to notice or care, anger boiling within her upon seeing Rendon Howe’s emblem replacing her own. 

A smirk crawled its way onto her face. It would be just a matter of time before he’d come for her. She was close, with nothing to keep her from ending his miserable existence. But although Everil hungered for revenge, she was well aware that underestimating him would be a mistake. So the Warden focused instead on the task at hand. 

They needed to get to the captured Grey Warden first. 

Their footsteps echoed as they descended a flight of spiral stairs that led to the lower levels. And the further down they went, the darker it became. The temperature dropped around them, the walls no longer warmed by the mansion’s burning hearths, whilst at the end lay a short corridor with a door and two guards standing beside it. “What’s that you bring?” one of them asked from behind his helmet as the three of them walked closer. “She looks familiar.”

Zevran cleared his throat and deepened his voice. “She’s the Cousland lady Teyrn Howe has been hoping to capture for some time. We caught her sneaking around the mansion.”

The guards exchanged glances and let out amused chuckles, then the same one spoke again, “What foolish lass... Waltzing into our lord’s home alone. I take it you were trying to exact your revenge upon the teyrn over your little family?”

“Yes… that's the plan.” Everil put on a wicked grin. “Tell me, ser. What does it feel like to give up your honor for a man like him? Do you enjoy murdering innocents in his name?”

The guard's arm shot out and yanked her by the front of her armor. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” she hissed back.

“I should cut off that tongue of yours…” he threatened through gritted teeth. 

A hand came and gripped his wrist, drawing his attention away from the prisoner. “Get your hands off her...” Zevran uttered, his voice carrying an edge. “Our lord would not appreciate us doing the work for him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The guard paused for a moment, and despite the helmet, they could see him mulling things over. He shoved her, earning a dirty look from her. “Fine. Hurry and throw her in.”

“Thank you.”

The three of them walked into the dungeon, where a long passage greeted them, dimly lit by torches. They followed it cautiously, seeing no guards posted inside. At least not yet.

“So easy…” Zevran muttered with a snicker.

“The hardest part will be getting out with soldiers on our tail," Everil whispered back.

“We can worry about that after we’ve rescued the Warden.” Leliana curled her nose, the helmet doing nothing to shield her from the stench. “Ugh… This place is disgusting.”

“Yes, it is…” Everil swallowed with a grimace. “Let’s hurry and find him.”

It reeked of blood, sweat, and urine, the intensity of it making it difficult to breathe. Everil imagined it wasn’t so when her family owned the place, but then again she had never visited this part of the estate. 

Each lord had the right to imprison those who dared perform transgressions against them, even within Denerim’s walls. Prisoners were meant to be kept temporarily, however, held just long enough for Denerim’s guards to remove them and possibly send them to Fort Drakon for a punishment befitting their crimes. Considering how long they’ve held the Grey Warden, it didn’t appear Howe followed that norm, and by extension, Loghain. This meant that Howe could lock up their opponents with no one knowing. Unless someone were to speak up about it. 

They reached a block of narrow cells, with Everil still pretending to be a prisoner in case they stumbled into more guards. They looked inside every one they came across, finding only dirty piles of hay on the floor for prisoners to lie on and empty buckets for them to relieve themselves. The cells were so small, a single prisoner barely fit in them, with just enough room to stand or curl into a ball when lying on the ground. 

After they were done inspecting the first row, they turned a corner, continuing along their path deeper in. “Do you think the Warden is still here?” Leliana asked softly.

“Shh...” Everil raised a hand when they entered the next block, hiding behind a wall when she spotted a guard standing in front of one of the cells. 

Zevran and Leliana exchanged glances as the Warden drew her weapons, then walked out into the open. “Hey!” she called, startling the soldier.

A pair of arms lunged out of the cell, wrapping around the man’s head before they heard a sickening crack. He crumbled into a heap, his neck broken. Two hands grabbed his feet to slowly drag the body into the cage, while Everil and her companions stared in astonishment.

“Maker’s breath…” Leliana whispered nervously.

After a moment, the gate opened and a dark-haired man with a beard walked out, wearing what was once the guard’s uniform. He turned tired eyes to Everil, a relieved expression befalling him upon seeing the emblem on her chest. But then he quickly glared at the two guards standing behind her.

“Let go of that woman!” he demanded, pointing his sword at them. 

Zevran gave him a puzzled look. “Do you know this man, my lady?”

“No…” Everil sent the prisoner a questioning stare. “Who are you, ser?”

“Are you not a Grey Warden?” he inquired with an expression that resembled hers. “And are you not being held captive by those behind you?” 

"Ah, no... I’m not being held captive. I’m Grey Warden Everil and these are my friends. The three of us have snuck in to—wait...” Realization hit her, her brows shooting up in surprise. “Are you by any chance the Grey Warden Loghain captured?”

Blinking, he slowly lowered his blade, also confused. “Y-Yes… I am.”

“Thank the Maker!” She smiled brightly, relieved to see him despite knowing nothing of him. “We came to rescue you, ser!”

“You did?” He chuckled at the young woman, amusement on his worn-down features. “Well... You certainly have impeccable timing.”

“Are you a survivor from Ostagar?” she asked expectantly. “One of Duncan’s men?”

“No…” His smile seemed to falter at the question. “My name is Riordan, a senior in the order. I was sent by the Grey Wardens of Orlais when we didn’t receive a response from Warden-Commander Duncan. However, I was captured by Regent Loghain’s men the moment I crossed the border and then brought here without so much as an explanation.” He sighed and shook his head in dismay. “The ignorance of such men… Are you the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden?”

“No... Warden Alistair also lives...” Everil answered in bewilderment, sheathing her weapons. “I thought you knew that already. We were told you were asking after him.”

“I’m afraid not. We thought every Grey Warden in Ferelden perished at Ostagar. I was sent to gather the names of those lost and begin preparations to make new Wardens to battle the Blight.”

“I see…” Everil frowned, an unpleasant feeling settling over her chest. _Something’s not right… Why would Erlina lie about this? Unless they were lied to, as well?_

Riordan breathed a sigh of relief, smiling a little. “I am glad to hear the young man lives, however… I was present during his Joining Ritual, you know. He was the only one amongst the recruits to face it without fear.”

“Well, you will get to see him again once we get out of here,” she said with a slight smile of her own. “You're my senior… but do you mind if I lead you out?”

“Of course not, sister.” He sheathed his sword behind his back, then gave her a firm nod. “I’ll be right behind—” 

The sound of a man screaming in agony suddenly cut through their conversation, making them pause and spin to a door past Riordan’s cell.

“That sounded bad,” Zevran casually pointed out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes, it did,” Everil agreed, eyeing the way with a perturbed expression. “We should probably help whoever that was. We don't have much time, but if Loghain imprisoned a Grey Warden, then I expect he did the same with others trying to oppose him.”

“He did, in fact,” Riordan told her, his hard gaze pointed in the same direction. “I overheard the guards talking about a noble they captured recently. They were ordered to torture him… I assume that was him screaming just now.”

“Come on. We have to save him,” Everil hurried past him, her cloak swaying with each swift step while the others went after her. 

More jails greeted them on the other side of the door as Everil led them through the narrow passages, the darkness shrouding everything in shadows. She was about to reach for a torch when something in one of the cells drew their attention. A prisoner lay on the floor inside, naked and curled into a ball while covered in dirt and muck. He was quivering and hugging himself, chanting the Chant of Light repeatedly in a soft, broken voice.

“Could it be him?” Leliana asked, looking down at him with sympathy.

“Hey…” Everil called to him quietly, stepping closer to the gate.

“Maker forgive me…” he whimpered weakly, tears streaming freely down his face.

Unable to see him clearly, Everil pulled the torch from the wall and raised the flame, observing his features. Her brow furrowed, feeling as if she knew who he was. “Something seems familiar about him.” Everil took a step back, lowering the torch. “Leliana, pick the lock.”

“Understood." The redhead pulled her lock pick from under her armor. She took a knee and began to work on the simple lock, the click sounding out soon after. 

Upon opening the gate, Everil stepped in and knelt by the ailing man, once again inspecting his face. Reddish-brown hair and a beard were wild and unkempt, framing a stout jaw and sunken cheeks. Dark circles had formed under his green eyes, his stare distant and unfocused. The torch then lit up a golden signet ring on his finger, pulling her gaze towards the emblem inscribed over it. 

“I failed, I failed, I failed…” He appeared to be delirious, oblivious of her presence. “Andraste forgive me, for I have failed in my oath… I let that blood mage escape…” 

“It sounds like he’s a Templar,” Leliana said sadly.

“He is… His name’s Irminric, brother to the Bann of the Waking Sea, Alfstanna Eremon. I’ve seen him at social gatherings a few times before. ” Everil sighed, her hand coming to rest on his quivering shoulder. “Irminric… You may not remember me, but I’m here to help you. What blood mage are you talking about?”

He spoke hoarsely, his toned muscles shimmering with a cold sweat. “The one… who escaped the Circle recently… I had him cornered… but someone stopped me.”

“Andraste’s mercy…” Everil breathed in disbelief, suddenly recalling the mage from Redcliffe castle. “You were the Templar hunting Jowan…”

“Yes…” The name made him raise his head, guilt-ridden eyes suddenly focusing on her face. “I was about to capture him… but then Teyrn Loghain’s men took him from me… and brought me here.”

Leliana gasped. “That’s terrible…! Disrupting a Templar’s duties is sacrilege! If the Chantry found out about this...”

“I see you now…” Irminric said, his feverish mind finally recognizing her features. “You’re one of the Couslands…” 

She nodded slowly, offering him a slight smile. “I am…”

“Then… Then I can trust you…” Shakily, he reached for the ring on his finger and grunted weakly while slowly sliding it off. He took the Warden’s wrist and placed the piece of jewelry on her palm, gazing tearfully at her. “Please, my lady… You must bring this… to my sister. She must know what happened.” 

“But we can help you out of here…”

“It’s too late for me… I have been… without lyrium for far too long.” Another quiver rocked his naked body, his grip on her tightening as he tried to hold on to life. “Just… tell her I am sorry… And tell her to please pray for me… Please...” 

Everil stared at him with compassion as her other hand came to rest over his. “I will… I promise.” 

“Thank… you…” A soft, shuddering breath then left him as his head lolled to the side, eyes rolling up into his skull. And he stopped shaking, his hand falling off her wrist and onto the cold ground.

Seeing him fade away, Everil clenched her jaw, fingers wrapping tightly around the ring. 

“What happened to him?” Zevran asked curiously. 

“Templars who are kept from lyrium can become very sick and die,” Leliana answered softly for him, gazing at the knight's corpse. “They receive it after they become full-fledged Templars and complete their vows. They use it to boost their skills against magic..., but the mineral is like a double-edged sword… They become addicted to it after a few uses and their bodies fail if they stop taking it.”

“Oh…” 

Riordan gave his head a shake. “Seems he has been here for quite some time then… The poor lad.”

“Those bastards just threw him into this cell and left him to rot.” Everil’s fist shook angrily, the ring digging into her glove. She rose and pocketed the piece of jewelry. “We'll have to seek out Alfstanna after this… She needs to learn who did this to her brother.”

“If she’s a bann, does that not mean she will be in the Landsmeet too?” Leliana inquired curiously.

“Most likely…” Everil sighed. “This isn't the way I would have liked to earn someone’s support, however…”

Another afflicted scream then echoed from further down the halls, closer and louder now than before.

"There it is again," said Zevran.

“Blast it… Let’s go!” Everil ran, her feet taking her through the darkness while one hand still held the torch. The others followed closely, the same urgency in their step. 

They crossed a long corridor as the stream of screams led them closer to the source until they again went silent. The group burst through yet another door into the next room but stopped dead in their tracks at what they saw within. A chair with spikes sat in a corner, leather straps attached to arms and legs, dark crimson patches staining the floor beneath it. An iron maiden had been placed against the wall, more spikes inside, all rusted from use. A table stained in blood was at the center, rusted blades, pincers, scissors, and other items sitting atop it.

A horrified Everil ventured in, going for her sword as the others stepped in behind her. The acrid stench of blood and other bodily fluids hung heavily over them, their stomachs churning in protest to the smell. Their eyes then gaze up at dangling shackles, the chains clanking with every subtle breeze wafting in.

“This Howe sure likes the extra fun…” Zevran muttered with a sickened grimace. “No wonder he wanted to bring you in alive.”

“Yes… I would have probably been tortured right here and no one would have been the wiser…” Everil shuddered involuntarily. 

“It sounds like you have a history with this Howe,” said Riordan, silently grateful that they didn't use these devices on him. 

“I do...” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “He killed my family.”

“Oh… Maker….” He offered her an empathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that…"

As they headed deeper in, a maniacal laugh echoed in the distance, drawing their attention. Everil pressed a finger to her lips and hastened towards it, leaving behind one torture room, only to edge to another. She pressed her shoulder to the wall, while her companions stacked up behind her, all listening to the conversation.

“Going against Teyrn Rendon Howe is bad for your health, boy...” one voice mocked, gruff and filled with malice.

“My father... will… ugh… will have him hanged for this!” a younger voice retorted angrily, raw and weak. Then the sound of popping bones followed, joined by more ear-piercing screams. “Agh! Damn you… bloody bastard!”

“Stop what you’re doing this instant!” Everil dashed around the corner, weapons drawn. The others walked in after her, all also armed.

“What in the…?” The torturer released the lever he'd been pulling, turning to the group with surprise. Then an arrow flew towards him, burying itself between his eyes as a whimper left his mouth. He staggered backward, grabbing at the torture rack, only to slide down to the floor, blood dripping down his face. 

Everil glanced over her shoulder to Leliana, who was lowering her bow, coldly regarding his corpse.

“Who… Who goes there!” the youthful man on the rack spoke, arms and legs tied to each end. He was so tightly bound he couldn't move or lift his head to look in their direction. But even from where she stood, Everil could tell he was in awful shape. He lay naked, covered in bruises, cuts, and grime as the straps about his joints cut into his pale flesh.

“Release the lever,” she commanded her party, at which Riordan responded by approaching the mechanism and freeing its gears. 

The prisoner let out a painful groan as the tension on his limbs eased away, relief filling him despite the pain still coursing through his entire body. Everil stepped closer to him, ignoring his state of undress while her gloved fingers untied the rope around his wrist. 

“You…” he croaked, then swallowed, gazing up at the beautiful face hovering over his. “You look familiar…”

“You do too," she responded with a subtle frown. "My name is Everil Cousland, of the Grey Wardens.” 

“Maker’s breath… You’re Bryce Cousland’s daughter?” He licked his chapped lips and gulped again, his vocal cords burning from the strain each word brought. “I’m Oswyn… Bann Sighard’s son… Did father send you to help me?”

“I'm afraid not. We just happened to stumble upon you here.”

“Heh…” Oswyn grunted bitterly. “Then Father… Father probably doesn't even know what that snake was doing to me.”

“Why did Howe do this?” Everil walked down the rack to undo his ankle straps while Leliana brought him a dirty blanket she’d found to return to him a bit of modesty.

He gave the nun a grateful nod, then answered her question. “I… A friend of mine was in Ostagar, serving under Teyrn Loghain. He told me Loghain ordered his men to turn their backs on the king before he and his army were overwhelmed by the darkspawn… Ugh...” He let out a loud groan as he sat up, his body protesting with every move he made. “He… He disappeared days after he told me this… And when I went looking for him at the market tavern, I was foolish enough to take a drink from a stranger… and then ended up here.”

“Dirty bastards…” Everil sighed at his story and folded her arms. “Well, you now have the chance to escape. I don't recommend you come with us, however, as we'll be running into danger shortly. But you can use the commotion to find your own way out.”

He frowned quizzically. “Commotion? What are... you trying to do? And why are you here if not to save me?”

“It's not relevant to you at the moment…” she replied, stepping aside as he slid off the rack and shakily wrapped the blanket about his waist. "All you need to know is that I'm trying to help Prince Alistair claim his rightful place on the throne. A Landsmeet will take place soon for this… if you want to repay me for saving your life, then you can do so by giving him your support.”

“Prince Alistair?” he repeated, the name new to his ears. 

“He's King Maric’s illegitimate son and half-brother to our late king, Cailan,” Everil explained, then smiled confidently. “He's a good man, worthy of the throne. And if you know anything about my family, then you know I don't make such claims lightly.”

"Hmm…" Oswyn paused for a moment, admiring the sincerity in the woman’s eyes. With a weak smile, he gave her a subtle nod, his words just as honest. “Very well, my lady. You have my word. My father and I will give you and the prince our vote in the Landsmeet, especially now that I know of Loghain's treachery first hand."

“Thank you...” She dipped her head gratefully. 

The sound of approaching footsteps had them all whirl around towards the flickering light of a torch, its glow gradually growing brighter. Male voices chatted and laughed, too far to make out the words, but close enough for them to know they were guards. 

“Sounds like we’re about to have some company,” Riordan said as he drew his sword.

“Perfect timing…” Everil smirked.

The other Warden gave her an odd look. “Why is that?”

“There’s someone else we came here to rescue. They're not in the dungeon, but the plan is to draw the guards down here with us to create a diversion.” She drew her blade and glanced towards Zevran. “Zevran, it's time to use that decoy.”

The elf snickered. “This will be fun.”

“Wait… What should I do?” Oswyn asked worriedly. 

“You run when we tell you,” she responded, a grin still on her lips as she returned her eyes to him. “Just stand clear. Things are about to get messy.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The resounding sound of the estate’s bell pierced through the night as soldiers rushed through the halls, announcing the escape of some prisoners. Servants cowered in the kitchens or in the nearest hiding spot, standing clear of the chaos. And in the guest wing, a disguised Alistair glanced around a corner, cautiously hidden from view. He saw more guards coming and quickly withdrew, his hand going for his sword. But the men ran past the queen’s room, chasing after someone else and completely ignoring both him and the crafty maid currently working on the lock. 

_There’s so many…_ he thought, dread gripping him. _Maker, I hope they're already out of the mansion…_

A loud click came from behind him.

“Done!” Erlina announced triumphantly.

Alistair turned around just as she swung open the door, revealing Anora, who’d been waiting for them. 

“Oh, finally…” the queen breathed out, a hand over her chest and a relieved smile on her face.

“Your Majesty,” Erlina approached her, immediately throwing her cloak around Anora’s shoulders. “I'm so glad you’re safe...”

“Thank you… I knew you would get it done.” Anora’s smile then faded into a suspicious look when an armored man walked in. “Who is this?”

“It’s me,” Alistair responded, removing his helmet. 

“Alistair…” She sent her maid a brief, yet meaningful glance. “What are you doing here?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Erm… Rescuing you?”

“My, but…” she chuckled. “That is unexpected...” 

“Yeah, well… I’m full of surprises.” He grumbled, grabbing her hand. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

“Right…” Anora gazed up at him, slightly irritated by his rudeness as he pulled her out of the room with him. Erlina heeled them, warily glancing behind them.

“I must say, I find it difficult to believe that you’ve come to save me at your own accord,” Anora told him, picking up her fine skirts to keep herself from tripping as she struggled to keep up with his strides. “Last we spoke you seemed utterly flustered by my presence.”

“Most people don’t question their rescuer, your Majesty,” he retorted, then suddenly stopped in his tracks, hearing footsteps. He pulled her to him and pressed his back to the wall just as a guard ran by, missing them as he rushed past them. Her beautiful face was close to his, noses almost touching, but he was too busy listening for more enemies to care.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not most people...”

“Clearly…” Alistair let out a frustrated breath, unable to mask the annoyance on his face. “Look, your Majesty… Right now, my friends are risking their lives so we can make it out of here in one piece. So I would appreciate it if you would just cooperate and stop wasting time.”

She held her tongue and proudly lifted her chin, turning away from him.

He resisted a groan. _Ugh… And I’m supposed to marry this woman?_

With the coast clear, they continued making their way out. The two of them crossed through empty passages, still followed by the elf as the distant sound of running soldiers echoed from deep within the estate. Then they turned a corner, aiming for the front gates. But instead of an open path, they found themselves with no way out. 

Alistair stopped and cursed under his breath, while the queen halted beside him, Erlina not far behind. 

Lieutenant Cauthrien, one of Loghain’s best warriors and someone he’d seen fight in Ostagar, stood in their way. She had black hair tied back into a bun, strands framing her pale, angular face. The woman was at nearly the same height as him, her shining steel armor and greatsword making her appear larger, stronger, despite her gender. She crossed her arms, icy blues looking straight at him while two of her men were beside her, both with weapons drawn.

“When I heard the commotion, I came running to retrieve the queen. However, it seems you managed to abduct her from right under my nose,” she spoke in an even voice, one hand reaching back to draw her weapon. “Unhand her, Grey Warden. Or suffer the consequences.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Alistair tried to explain, standing his ground. “I came to save her from you. Loghain locked her up against her will, so she asked for our help.”

“Is that so?” Cauthrien lifted an eyebrow, shifting her sharp stare to the queen. “Does he speak the truth, your Majesty?”

“No. I know not of what he speaks,” Anora chillingly responded, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

He shot her a perplexed glare. “You what...?”

Cauthrien aimed her blade. “Kill him!”

Alistair drew his sword just in time to block the woman’s massive attack, gritting his teeth under the sheer force. He veered it to the side, trying to stab it into the ground, but she pulled it back and swung in a wide arch, forcing him to duck. He had to step back to dodge another swing, then blocked the sword from one of her guards. 

“Shit!” he cursed and shoved the man’s blade away. Alistair withdrew, the soldier swung. Quick on his feet, he dodged and drove his blade into his gut, easily running him through. 

Anora scowled at the sight, watching him kick the dying man off his weapon to engage the second. With a grunt, Alistair swiftly drew his shield from under his cloak, swinging it and deflecting the guard’s blade. And he slashed downward, cutting open his torso and spraying red over the floor. 

“You dare spill my men's blood!” Cauthrien cried out and charged, bringing her blade down on him.

Alistair blocked with his shield. “They started it!” 

She swung again, but this time Alistair struck at just the right angle to deflect her sword, making it stab through a decorative table nearby. The lieutenant let out a frustrated growl and slashed back around, but he was faster. Alistair ducked low, her sword swooshing over his head. Then he sprung up and slashed, cutting open her cheek.

Hissing, Cauthrien immediately retreated several steps, putting distance between them. Then she pinned him with a heated glare, slowly reaching up to wipe her bleeding face.

Alistair merely met her gaze, calm and focused. Meanwhile, a stunned Anora watched the fight from the sidelines, impressed by his display of skill. She knew Grey Wardens were good, but she hadn't realized they could stand on even ground with her father’s most trusted officer. 

“Harming a woman is not very prince-like, Warden,” Cauthrien uttered menacingly, bending the knees with both hands on the hilt.

He gave her a lopsided smirk. “Hey, you raised your blade at me first. That pretty much throws chivalry out the window.”

“Shut up!” Cauthrien rushed him again, intent on ending it. She swung upon his unguarded flank, but just as she did, he timed it, landing a perfect hit with his shield. It knocked her blade to the side and onto the floor, the weight of it cracking the stone. Then the sound of metal and tearing flesh came and time seemed to stop. 

Shock fell over her features and she coughed up blood. 

Anora’s hand flew to her lips and she guiltily averted her eyes, her maid also staring in horror from behind her.

“Curse... you…” Cauthrien muttered breathlessly, his blade having found her chest. She clung to him, grabbing handfuls of his cloak. She breathed in with effort, tasting copper in her mouth as more red dripped onto the floor. “You... You will never... be a fitting king for this country…”

“Cauthrien… You blindly followed the man who let Cailan die and then ignored more of his crimes,” Alistair spoke quietly, holding her trembling form as she fell on her knees. “I’m sorry, but… you're in no position to judge me…” He pulled his blade out of her and then lowered her to the ground, remaining on a knee beside her.

“Don’t look at me… that way…” she hissed hoarsely. “Don’t pity me…”

“I don’t…” He exhaled. “I’m just sad because we could have used you in this war… Ferelden could have used you.” 

Her lips parted in weak surprise. “You…” 

Alistair watched as her life flickered away and breathed out with a shake of the head. He stood and sheathed his blade while addressing the queen with both confusion and irritation. “Why did you lie to her…?”

“I’ve no reason to explain myself to you.” Anora stared up at him through cool, calculating eyes, hands closed into fists at her sides. 

“Oh, I respectfully disagree, your Majesty...” He stepped up to her, pinning her with a glare. “Now, tell me—”

“Get them!”

He whirled towards the voice, seeing more of Cauthrien’s men approaching, interrupting his line of questioning.

“Damn it, we’re out of time…” Alistair breathed out in aggravation and grabbed her by the wrist before rushing for the gates. He flung them open and pulled her along with him, leading her out of the mansion as the maid scrambled to follow. They hurried through the courtyard, running towards the street, chased by the guards.


	12. Bittersweet Revenge

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ P _ _ anting for breath, Everil and her  _ party turned a corner, taking down as many soldiers as they could while fleeing from several more. A set of double doors then appeared at the end of the dark passage, giving them no other option but to enter it or be cornered by their pursuers. She burst through, and the others went in with her. They slammed the gate shut. Riordan slid its iron beam across it, locking it in place just before the men who’d chased them banged their fists against it.

“That won't hold them for long,” he told them.

“Based on the layout, I wager the exit is only a few more rooms away,” Everil said with a confident look. “We’ll make it before they break the door.”

“Quite doubtful, my dear girl.” 

She froze, her heart stopping for a split second at the sound of his voice. Everil slowly turned around, her pulse a battle drum in her ears. And then her expression darkened into a murderous glare. “Howe…” 

She took a threatening step, icy blues flaring with a hatred that burned much like the torches lighting the room. Her companions stood nearby, gazes set on the soldiers standing beside the hawkish man, all armed and prepared to fight.

“Ah, Bryce’s little spitfire… Even under all that blood and armor, you remain as beautiful as your mother,” Howe purred darkly, a snide grin on his face.

“Do not speak of her!” she bit out with rage, aiming her sword at him. “Why did you betray us? You were my father’s closest friend! He trusted you! My entire family trusted you!”

“Oh, please…” He arrogantly folded his arms. “Your father was a traitor who dealt and exchanged favors with Orlesian nobles. And yet, despite all this, he held a position of power, while I faded away into obscurity.” He chuckled, mockingly shaking his head. “I couldn't have that… So he became a tool to me, a stepping stone to regain the Howe name’s influence and power.”

Everil bared her teeth. “Liar! My father was no traitor! Our relations with the Orlesians were sanctioned by King Cailan himself!”

“Another traitor…” he scoffed, lifting a brow. “Why do you think my regent dispatched him? He was a danger to this country.”

“More lies...” she hissed. “Cailan was only trying to make us stronger through peace and alliances! Two things you would never understand because the only one who matters to you is yourself!”

“On that, we can agree.” A slimy chuckle followed, his eyes crinkling at the sides with mirth. “I now have the ear of a king too set in his ways to listen to anyone but my counsel.” His smile then faded into a dark expression. “I will not allow you to ruin that for me. So consider yourself fortunate, for this time I will make sure you join your miserable family.”

“You will be the one dying tonight, Howe,” she growled, Duncan's dagger joining her family sword in her hands. “I swear it...”

“Everil, what do you want us to do?” Leliana asked while standing by the door.

“Kill the guards around him, but leave Howe to me.” Her attention never left her target. “No matter what happens, do not intervene. Is that clear?”

Zevran frowned worriedly while the redhead nodded slowly. “Understood...” 

“We have your back, sister…” Riordan said resolutely. 

Without further warning, Everil cried out and charged, aiming for his neck. Howe swiftly drew his daggers, deflecting her attack so quickly she didn't see his blades. She whirled around, bringing her sword in an arch to strike at his side. He deflected it again, and this time he struck, gracing her side and leaving a thin gash on her armor.

She clicked her tongue and ducked when he slashed at her again, before using the same motion to kick at his legs. But she hit only air when he nimbly flipped back, defying the frail appearance his aging body portrayed.

Howe rose, giving her an arrogant smile. “Your parents may have trained you, but I have experience you lack, girl.”

Everil’s answer came as another battle cry, feet kicking the ground as she darted toward him. Their blades connected, metal against metal resonating loudly as he blocked each strike of her weapons. But she kept coming. Unrelenting. Intent on driving her blade into his flesh as she let all of her hatred and grief take over.

More sounds of fighting surrounded her as her companions dispatched his men, but she ignored them, focused only on him. They exchanged hits, prying each other’s attacks in a flurry of metal and sparks. Beads of sweat slid down her brow, heart ramming in a frenzy as each swing brought her closer to ending his life. 

“Die!” Everil slashed downward and Howe blocked, then she used the opportunity to strike up with her dagger, slashing at his arm. He snarled as blood poured out, then slashed with both blades in a crisscross, forcing her back as they screeched over her chest plate.

The Warden delivered a swift kick, hitting his open gut and sending him stumbling back against a wall. With a roar, she made to bring Elethea down upon him, ready to end him. 

But he smirked up at her, his smile that of a snake finally catching its prey.

She didn’t have time to stop when he fell on a knee and leaned, dodging her sword’s diagonal slash. He struck, his sharp dagger cleanly cutting through her gambeson. With a grunt, Everil whirled around and stepped away from him, a hand on her newly open wound as crimson gushed out of her in a stream.

“My lady!” Zevran called out worriedly, while he and Leliana made to help.

“Don’t!”

The two of them froze, filled with concern as they watched her straighten herself.

“I have to do this alone...” she bit out bitterly. 

“You still wish to come after me, child?” he taunted, dagger still dripping with her blood. 

She clenched her teeth and kicked forth again, screaming with rage while ignoring the pain. Her blade swooshed to the side, hitting nothing when he leaned back to avoid it. He attacked once more, forcing her to bring up her sword and dagger to block both his weapons. The Warden then saw him draw his arm back and lowered herself, avoiding a horizontal slash. She sprung upwards, bringing her blade with her and cutting up across his chest. 

He grunted and stumbled back. “Damn you!”

“You’re mine!” Everil quickly prepared the final blow, lifting her father’s sword, her glare murderous. Colors blurred her vision and her head spun, bringing forth a raging wave of nausea. 

The Warden stopped mid-step, dropping her dagger to cover her wound. “What…?” she wheezed through laborious breaths, struggling to keep herself from vomiting. She fell on a knee, all strength suddenly leaving her.

“Evy!” she heard Leliana’s voice call in alarm, the sound muffled by the fog in her mind.

Howe sneered, covering his own oozing injury. “That is all I needed… an opening.”

“Poison…” Everil gasped while glaring up at the cackling old man.

“Yes. The same one I used on your father. And from the same black market in Antiva where I obtained the one used on Eamon.” He took a step towards her, tightening the grip on his tainted blade while sheathing the other. “I doubt you will find an antidote anywhere in Denerim… And I am fairly certain that whatever you used to cure Eamon was both rare and quite difficult to secure.”

She gritted her teeth. “You bastard…”

“Finally…” he laughed hoarsely, then lifted the blade with both hands. “I will rid myself of the last of the Couslands!”

“No!” Zevran and Leliana cried out in unison, making a run for him while Riordan also rushed in to save her. 

But before they could interfere, Everil was already moving. With a cry, she lunged forth like a viper, reaching for him. She took hold of his wrist, stopping his attack just as she buried her sword into his gut. The tip of her blade pierced out his back as Howe released a surprised gasp, his weapon clattering to the floor.

The old rogue’s eyes grew wide with shock. “You—”

Clenching her jaw, Everil growled as she twisted her sword, the blade grinding his innards as he moaned in agony. She withdrew her weapon, more blood splashing the ground before him as he fell on his knees. The stunned Howe gazed upon his red-stained hands and then gaze went up, meeting her chilling stare. 

“Farewell...” Everil lifted her chin with pride despite the pain, her grip on Elethea steady as she raised it above her head. “Traitor...” 

And then she struck, slicing his head clean off as a crimson fountain poured out from his neck. She watched with sickening satisfaction as it dropped with a thud, then rolled over the stone floor, coming to a stop with Howe’s horrified expression facing her.

Silence followed as Everil panted for air, staring intently at the corpse of the man who murdered everyone she loved. Now with her task finally done, an odd feeling of emptiness and loss descended over her chest. One she couldn’t comprehend nor did she have time to, as the wave of nausea suddenly grew too great for her to handle. The vile came rushing up against her will and she hurriedly leaned against the nearest wall to wretch.

“My lady!” Zevran ran towards her, followed by Leliana and Riordan. He placed a comforting hand on her back, gazing worriedly at her as they waited for her to finish emptying her stomach.

“Evy…” Leliana whispered, her expression mirroring that of the elf’s. 

The Warden took in a deep breath and swallowed the disgusting, acrid taste, her vision swimming. She stubbornly pushed through it and slowly straightened herself. “I’m… I’m fine…” 

Zevran wasn’t convinced. “If that was from the black markets of Antiva, then we need to get you out of here and quickly. One of the Crows probably made that.”

She smiled weakly. “Then I don’t… I don’t suppose you have an antidote on you?”

“No…” he sighed with an apologetic expression. “I won’t even know what to make unless I know what he used for certain… And half the ingredients used on that sort of concoction are native to my homeland.”

A pitiful chuckle escaped her. “Great…”

The door behind them burst open. Guards came pouring in, all setting their sights on them. 

“Damn it… Let’s go!” Everil grunted as she spun to the exit at the other side of the room, pushing through the dizziness as they ran.

Riordan kicked it open and they rushed through, entering a narrow passage. They hastily crossed, Leliana pausing just long enough to fire arrows at the incoming enemies, attempting to delay them as they fled.

“This way!” Everil called and turned a corner, leading them towards the gate in Erlina’s small map. 

They soon reached a back room used for storage, their exit at the other side. Everil hurriedly pulled the key from her pocket, unsteadily rushing to the locked iron gate through which the light of dawn filtered in. She went to use it with a shaking hand, trying to insert it into the lock, but the keyhole appeared to triple as the toxins disrupted her sight. She blinked several times but kept missing her target.

“Shit… Leliana!” Everil called and the nun ran to her. “Open it! I can't focus!” she ordered and hurriedly handed her the key.

Zevran and Riordan engaged the soldiers that came into the room, locking blades with them while trying to keep the rest from entering. Everil stepped up to help, swinging her sword and taking down one of the guards.

Leliana quickly inserted the key as instructed, but when she turned it there was no click. No freedom. 

“Andraste's mercy…!” she breathed in horror, and thinking fast, she tossed the key and dug out her lock pick. The rogue dropped on a knee and quickly worked on the gate, desperately trying to open it.

Everil struck down another guard, then looked over her shoulder. “What’s taking so long Leliana!”

“The key didn't work!” she yelled back, focused on her task.

“What?” Everil hissed in disbelief.  _ But this is the only gate that leads into the dungeons from the outside…!  _ Sensing foul play, her eyes hardened. “Just focus on getting it unlocked! Don't worry about us, we’ll cover you!”

Leliana nodded firmly. “Got it!”

Riordan stabbed one in the gut, then pulled the blade out of his body to slice open his throat. Zevran kicked another off his feet and brought his blades down upon his chest. Then as he came up, a blade caught his arm. He hissed and then angrily struck at his attacker, leaving an angry gash across the man’s torso.

“They keep coming!” Riordan shouted, dodging an attack from a hammer before defeating its wielder.

“Just make sure they don’t get past us!” Everil replied as her dagger found a man’s throat.

The situation was becoming direr by the minute. They were tired and cornered, with little room to move in the compact storage room. Meanwhile, the poison continued to wreak havoc in her body, causing her muscles to burn with each swing of her blade. Everil fought through it with all her might, slashing and hacking through their enemies. Then one got too close, cutting at her arm as she grunted and attacked back, slicing open his jugular.

Leliana worked the tools through the small mechanism, carefully undoing the intertwining pieces of iron as a drop of sweat trickled down her temple. Then after a few more agonizing moments, it clicked open, the sound like music to her ears.

“It’s open!” she announced, rising to her feet.

Running on raw adrenaline, Everil promptly pulled on Riordan and Zevran, shoving them towards the gate. “Go! Go! Go!”

An enemy ran forth, going for Leliana just as she turned her back to follow the others. But before he could strike, Everil dashed to stand between them. She blocked his attack, but her blurred mind couldn’t see his arm bring around a sword. The blade stabbed her right flank, piercing through her and drawing a strangled cry out of her.

“Evy!” Leliana drew her daggers as the man plucked his blade out of her friend, and she angrily shot forth, slicing open his throat. As soon as his body fell, she swung her arm over her shoulders and dragged her out.

As they exited, Zevran and Riordan pushed a nearby cart covered in hay, sending it towards the gate. It crashed and blocked their enemy’s path, keeping them inside. But the party only had enough time to flee into the streets before more guards came running out from around the courtyard, looking for them, only to find them gone.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“If you continue to pace, you will wear a hole into the carpet.” 

Alistair ran a hand through his hair and halted in his steps, turning to the arl. “I’m sorry, but I can't believe you let her off the hook that easily.”

“As I said before…” Eamon sighed softly, clasping wrinkled hands together while regarding him from behind his desk. “We need the queen on our side. I do not know why she lied to the lieutenant, but we both knew Anora’s alliance with us was one of convenience. Perhaps she sought to put up appearances before her father’s most loyal subordinate.”

“I just… I don't trust her,” Alistair muttered moodily, folding his arms. “Even Cailan warned me about her.”

“Yes. Of course, it would be foolish of you to trust her. This is a game in which only those with the best hand can win, and right now she holds most of the cards.” The arl shook his head tiredly. “We... have little choice but to let her be.”

Alistair’s forehead creased, confused by the man’s line of reasoning “If you don't trust her, then why are you agreeing to me marrying her?” 

“Because regardless of her behavior, she speaks the truth,” he answered frankly, giving him an apologetic look. “Your marriage would be what is best for the country.”

“Yes... Right…” Alistair turned away, deeply annoyed by all the politics and at the prospect of having to constantly watch his own back. Something was seriously off about the woman, but he had no clear idea nor proof as to what. The moment he and the queen arrived, he’d confronted her before the arl, seeking an explanation. But she’d claimed herself ill from all the excitement during their escape and then retired to her room, successfully avoiding their questions.

“At any rate…” Eamon stood and stepped around his desk. “I must go meet with one of the banns at his estate for negotiations. I will hopefully return by tomorrow. Mind yourself in my absence, Alistair.”

“Of course…” Alistair quietly replied, watching the arl leave the room. He let out a huff and flopped down on a chair by the fireplace, crossing his arms in irritation. “Still treats me like a child...”

Silence followed, stretching out as he stared at the flickering flames, his mind wandering back to his fellow Grey Warden. They hadn’t heard from her or the others for what remained of the night, so he hadn’t even been able to sleep since they arrived. An indescribable feeling had settled upon him, one that told him something bad may have happened. And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't shake it off. “I’m sure she can handle things without me…” he murmured to himself, his heart constricting painfully.

The door opening drew his attention from his troubling thoughts and to Morrigan, who was strolling into the room. She approached him, amber eyes glimmering with the glare of the flames as a smile tugged at her purple lips. “So you seek to become the king of Ferelden now. Are you certain that brainless head of yours can handle such responsibility?”

Alistair shot her an annoyed look. “In case you haven't noticed, I’m not in the mood for your goading...”

She crossed her arms. “I take it they have yet to return?” 

“Yes…” He rested his chin on his hand, again staring at the fire. 

“Perhaps they were sidetracked?”

Another sigh left him. “I hope that’s all it is…”

“Prince Alistair!” Running footsteps made them gaze towards the doorway. A guard was leaning on the frame, panting for breath, and with an alarmed look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Alistair pushed himself up to his feet, facing him. “Did something happen?”

The guard swallowed. “Y-Your friends... They’re here! A-And one of them is badly wounded!”

He paled, the dread increasing ten-fold. “Take me to them!”

“Right away, Your Highness!” The guard ran back the way he came as both Alistair and Morrigan trailed him.

A heavy weight pressed against Alistair’s chest as they hurriedly trailed the guard until they reached the front doors. They stepped outside, and the sight that greeted them made both he and Morrigan freeze on the spot.

A weak Everil was leaning heavily against Zevran, barely able to stand on her own two feet. Her hand pressed a piece of cloth to a deep wound, blood trickling to the ground with every step. 

And Alistair was moving, running to them and reaching for her. “What happened!”

“She’s been poisoned… And we were overwhelmed...” Zevran responded while allowing the other man to hoist her into his arms. Everil whimpered feebly at the sudden movement, her head rolling back and her arms going limp as unconsciousness finally claimed her. 

“Hold on, Everil...” Alistair spun about and ran inside with her, the others jogging after him. He went into the nearest room, near the arl’s own chambers, ignoring the surprised looks from the servants. The bedroom was spacious, furnished lavishly as if meant for a family member. But he didn’t give a damn, not even as she dripped over the expensive furs lining the floor on his path to the bed. 

Alistair carefully laid her over the silk sheets, then barked at the nearest person. “Get Wynne! Hurry!” 

“On it!” Zevran dashed out of the room and down the hall.

Quivering hands worked on undoing her armor, his panicked stare going to her face. His heart churned at the ghostly color of her skin, her warm, rosy cheeks now pale as winter. 

With a creased brow, Morrigan neared the other side of the bed to undo one of her buckles. She promptly took notice of the tremor on his fingers as he struggled with a single clasp. “Leave the room, Alistair,” she ordered.

“No,” was his curt reply.

The witch scowled and quickly strode to him before forcefully grabbing him by the arm. “I said leave!”

He roughly freed himself from her grasp. “No! I won’t leave her!” 

“You are in no shape to help, fool!” Morrigan yelled at him. “If you don't get out of our way, she will die!”

Those words seemed to make him halt, hurling him into a stupor. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t fight her. Alistair simply stood there, struggling with the genuine possibility of death's arms tearing her away from him. 

With a low, frustrated growl, Morrigan grabbed the stunned man and dragged him out of the room as he numbly stumbled forward.

“I'm here!” Wynne announced as she arrived with Zevran, carrying a bag of supplies. “Where is she?”

“In here,” Morrigan answered, letting her rush through while sending Alistair an annoyed glare. “Now, all of you are to stay out unless we call for you. No exceptions!" 

The door shut with a slam and then the quiet hung heavily over them, making the hallway cold and empty. Voices reached Alistair's ears as two servant girls approached him, asking if they could help. Wondering what to fetch and what to do for his dear friend. But it all sounded muffled, distant. 

He hopelessly looked down at his trembling hands, stained crimson with her blood. And then he gazed upon his clothes, his gambeson also soaked in it. The sight made him feel ill and an overwhelming mixture of despair, sadness, and guilt overtook him, suffocating him.

“Alistair…”

His head snapped up to Leliana, who had dismissed the maids and now stood in front of him. 

She spoke again, her soft voice nearly a whisper, “I… I think this was a trap.”

“Trap...?” he echoed, his own words sounding far away. “What are you…?”

“The key they gave us… It didn't work. That's why the soldiers could corner us. They purposely gave us the wrong key. It was a trap.”

Alistair's eyes widened as her words sunk in, his tired mind putting the pieces together. First, Erlina’s insistence on him going with them. Second, the queen's surprised look upon finding out about the change in plans. And third, Anora’s lie to Cauthrien. 

And as soon as he completed the puzzle, all he could see was red. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Anora lowered her book to the small desk before her, tension on her brow. She was having a hard time focusing, with the Blight and now the Landsmeet constantly in her thoughts. Now, she also had the death of her father’s closest subordinate on her shoulders, which could have been avoided had she played her cards right.

It was all spiraling out of her control. And she hated not being in control.

With a weary breath, she rose to her feet and took a few steps, her rose-colored dress dragging over the floor as she returned it to its shelf.

“Lady Cauthrien’s fate was not your fault, my lady,” Erlina reassured her while bringing her some tea. 

“I must always live with the consequences of my actions, Erlina…” The queen took the dainty cup and stared at the steaming liquid within. “Even if it was he who killed her… she died because of my deceit.”

“No…” Erlina sighed, looking away in shame. “I failed you, my lady… You would not have been forced into it had I done my work properly.”

Anora gently placed a hand on her maid’s shoulder, smiling a little at her.

Her door burst open, drawing a surprised gasp out of both women and causing Anora to nearly spill her drink. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded, setting down her cup upon seeing who it was.

“I knew we couldn't trust you.” Alistair stalked towards her, stopping a mere step from her. “You betrayed us!”

Erlina reached for her knife. “Get away from—!”

A dagger to her throat made her halt halfway.

“Don't move,” Leliana hissed, grabbing her wrist and prying the weapon from her hand.

“Watch your tone, Alistair,” Anora retorted, meeting his glare without fear. “You may be King Maric’s son, but I am still your queen. You will address me with—”

“Spare me the bloody politics!” he cut her off, his outburst causing her to flinch. Raw anger and pain were etched over his stare, his words drenched with contempt as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t give a rat's arse about who you are right now. All I know is that you’re a traitor like your father. And that it’s because of you that Everil is lying on a bed, fighting for her life just down the hall!”

“The Grey Warden?” Erlina whispered nervously. 

An uncomfortable pause followed, and then the queen defiantly lifted her chin. “Such ridiculous accusations! I would never—!”

“Stop lying!” 

A loud bang made her jump on her feet when his fist connected with the bookcase behind her, by her head, causing her heart to beat widely in alarm. “You want me dead to keep the throne to yourself!” he yelled at her face. “You used the jailed Grey Warden as bait, then planned for us to have no way of escaping Howe’s guards! To make it look as if my oh-so-very unfortunate death would've had nothing to do with you! Only, I didn't go with my friends like you wanted, so guess what? Now someone important to me is paying the price instead of me!”

Anora’s eyes widened at how unexpectedly shrewd he was. It took her a moment to answer, but she hid the nerves behind a mask of sympathy, carefully picking her next words. “I am sorry about your friend—”

“Sure you are…”

“—but I need both you and her to defeat my father and the Blight. What would I gain from killing you?” She then smiled, appearing calm despite the situation. “Besides, our wedding has already been decided by Arl Eamon. All it would take is his vote once the rest of the nobility chooses you as king. Betraying him and you would only jeopardize my chances at stripping my father from his regency.”

Then she had to steel herself when, still with a fist to the bookcase, he leaned in close, forcing her to stare into his hazel browns and see the rage burning in their depths. “I don't believe you... And you know what else? I won’t ever trust you.” His voice was quiet once more, restrained, yet dangerous. “So just know that if she doesn’t make it… I’ll make sure you hate every single moment of your life with me,  _ your Majesty _ .”

Without waiting for an answer, Alistair whirled around, cloak flowing with the motion, as he and Leliana left the room, slamming the door shut.

Anora placed a hand to her heaving chest, feeling the uncontrollable pounding of her heart. She was used to men groveling at her feet, fulfilling her every whim. But this one dared stand up to her with complete disregard towards her position and her charms.

And to her surprise, she found it rather thrilling.

“Are you all right, your Majesty?” Erlina gently placed her hand on her shoulder, glaring at the door. “I can't believe he figured it out.”

She nodded slowly, lowering her hand before closing it into a tight fist. “He may hold a striking resemblance to his brother, but he is definitely not Cailan. He is no fool.”


	13. A Lover's Sin

⚜

  
  
  
  


**_H_ ** _ours passed until night came_ , the silence hanging over them as the rest of the mansion slept, something Alistair barely managed at odd intervals in his chair. The servants had attempted to bring them food once or twice, yet none of them really ate. Now, he was leaning forward with heavy shoulders, elbows on his knees and hands clasped against his forehead. The others rested against the walls or sat on the floor, while Leliana quietly prayed, her soft voice soothing to their ears. 

Aside from a half-hearted greeting, he had yet to speak with Riordan. But the man didn't seem to mind, his own eyes cast upon the ground as they waited.

It was near sunrise by the time the door opened, causing everyone to snap their heads expectantly in its direction as Wynne wobbled out, sweat soaking her face. Alistair stood immediately, stepping towards her just in time to help support her weakened body. “How is she?” he prompted, leading her toward his chair and helping her sit as he took a knee before her.

Wynne pressed her lips together in a grim look, avoiding his gaze as she stared down in silence.

“Wynne… How is she!” he asked again, his voice louder than he’d intended.

“I… I cannot help her. She lost too much blood… and I cannot rid her body of the poison making her ill,” she whispered hoarsely, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Alistair’s heart seemed to stop then, along with the rest of the world around him. He rose with effort, barely registering the gentle pat he gave the old woman’s shoulder. Then he slowly turned around, heavy feet taking him to the open door before entering the room. The others gathered around the exhausted mage, offering words of comfort while they too were stricken by the news.

Numb and hurting inside, he approached the bed and stood beside it, vaguely aware of Morrigan’s presence across him. The witch watched him, catlike stare focused despite the dark circles that had formed beneath them. Bjorn whined on the floor next to him, sitting with the same sagging posture.

Alistair's desolate eyes slowly traced Everil's features, observing her motionless form as if she were but an illusion. He took in the picture of her hands lying at her sides, unmoving, while a thin white cotton robe covered the body he'd touched so lovingly only days ago. Chocolate locks showered her pillow, contrasting with her now ashen skin, while long lashes remained closed as she slept. He saw the uneven rise and fall of her chest and listened to the faint sound of her breath, barely holding on, like a flickering candle close to being extinguished.

As if his touch would somehow shatter her, he ran the backs of his fingers along her icy cheek. This was the strongest person he knew, and yet she lay weak and vulnerable. Like a porcelain doll on the verge of breaking. “This can't be happening...” he breathed, his voice cracking as he carefully took her chilled hand in his. “Please tell me this is another nightmare…”

Alistair waited for that beautiful smile of hers. For those reassuring words to tell him everything would be all right. To tell him she just needed a little more rest. A bit more sleep. But her lips remained sealed, denying him the sweet melody of her voice. “Wake up...” he begged miserably, lowering himself to his knees. 

There was no answer. Not even a whisper. Not even a sign.

“Please…” A quivering hand came up and lightly shook her shoulder, pleading to her. “Everil... please!”

“That’s enough.” 

Alistair’s eyes trailed up to the witch as a tear slid down his face. And he found himself too weak to argue with the ill-tempered mage. Too tired and consumed by grief to feel anything else under that frigid look she was sending his way. 

His dazed gaze followed Morrigan as she headed for the door and sternly told the others to remain outside. Then she closed it once more, leaving them alone, away from prying eyes. 

Deafening silence filled the chamber, save for Morrigan’s light steps as she returned to the table where they’d laid out the herbs. She felt him looking at her as she placed their elfroot back into their bunches before storing them away in their bags, having done all they could with them.

Alistair had never felt so powerless. So helpless and despaired, even with all the tragedy he'd experienced and witnessed in the past. All he wanted was for her to open her eyes. To rise and return to him once more. He wanted to hold her again, to kiss her, and hear her gentle laugh. 

More tears poured out of him as memories of her danced inside his head, taunting him with something he'd never hear nor see again. And he gritted his teeth at their cruelty, a sob rocking his body. _I refuse to let her go... I can't let her die!_

“Morrigan…”

There was no answer as the witch quietly moved towards the bed. She carefully adjusted the covers, pulling them up in an attempt to keep Everil warm.

“Save her…”

Morrigan paused, still holding the edge of the sheets as she shifted her attention to him. “You heard the hag. Conventional magic did not do, and neither did my herbs.”

“But…” His stare didn't waver. “You’re Flemeth’s daughter… I know you have more than conventional magic. Especially in that book she left behind.”

The witch chuckled weakly and folded her arms, glancing over him as if he were the most curious thing. “'Tis true I learned of the healing spell Mother used on the two of you after Ostagar… ‘Tis far more powerful than that of the hag, which is how you both could recover from your injuries so quickly. However, it requires much more than simple lyrium to cast it.’

“What do you need?” he asked without hesitation.

“Blood.”

Alistair's gaze widened a fraction at her answer. A brief pause followed as he glanced down at the woman he loved. His hand came to gently rest on her head, his thumb tenderly stroking her brow. He swallowed, then stared decisively at the witch. “Use it.”

Surprise crossed her features at his uncharacteristic command. For a moment, Morrigan thought she’d imagined it, but the conviction on his expression told her otherwise. A subtle smirk made its way onto her lips. “So you would throw away your principles for her sake?”

“Yes." His reply came without pause. “I would do anything for her. Is it my blood you need? Because if that's the case, you can have all of it.”

Morrigan's usually hardened features softened. She had never seen him this confident in any decision. And although she would never admit it, it impressed her. She reached into her pocket and produced a small knife. “Come. Give me your arm.”

He got on his feet and took quick steps around the bed before doing as he was told.

“Not your sword arm…” She gazed up at him and took his left hand, unrolling his sleeve to reveal his wrist. “Twill need to be enough to cleanse and heal her body, but 'twill not kill you. You will be weak for some time afterward, however.”

“I don't care…” His hard eyes met hers. “Do it.”

The witch nodded once, then pressed the knife to his wrist. He winced and clenched his jaw when she cut, fast and deep, severing the veins and causing his blood to pour onto the floor.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A bright ray of light cut through the black clouds around her, showering her with its warmth. It coursed through her like a flowing river amid summer, slowly easing the pain in her muscles and leaving behind a refreshing feeling. Its embrace beckoned her, pulling her away from death's frigid grasp and back towards the world of the living. She let it take her, holding on to it as if it were her beacon, letting it guide her through the emptiness and towards a shimmering glow in the distance. The closer she got, the brighter it became until there was nothing else she could see but light.

Everil drew in a deep breath that burned her lungs before a whimper escaped her lips. It was dark again, but it was no longer cold and desolate. She was awake. Alive.

“Everil?”

The familiar voice sounded muffled to her fogged mind, and she could vaguely feel someone holding her hand. With another weak whine, she willed herself to crack open her eyes, watching as the light slowly faded to reveal the stone surface of a ceiling. A confused frown creased her brow, and she swallowed through her dry throat before weakly turning her head. 

Alistair’s tear-streaked face and expectant eyes greeted her as he knelt on a knee by her bed. Morrigan was standing beside him, gazing upon her with arms crossed and beads of sweat sliding down her brow.

“Hey…” Everil whispered hoarsely.

“Thank the Maker...” he breathed, a tear escaping his eye as he gently kissed the back of her hand. “I’m so glad… So glad…”

Bits and pieces of what happened made their way into her head and she felt a stab of guilt upon seeing the deep relief on his features. Moments ago she'd been floating in a void, waiting for death to drag her away to the Fade. How she survived, she could not tell, but everyone must have fretted over her—especially him.

With a grunt, she made to sit up, wincing at the ache in her sore muscles.

“Easy there…” Alistair helped her, rising to his feet to push her upwards.

Then she saw him sway as if dazed, nearly falling on top of her. He leaned onto the mattress to steady himself, before he knelt on the floor once more, never once letting go of her hand. It was then that she noticed just how worn out he looked.

“Alistair…?” She gazed at him with concern. "Are you all right? You look pale…”

A broken chuckle left him as he gripped her a little tighter. "Don't worry about me… I just need some rest after this. You kept me up all day and night, you know… and not in the usual naughty way.”

Behind him, Morrigan gave her eyes a roll then gazed down at him in silence, seeing he was hiding his wrist from her sight. She’d closed his wound to keep him from bleeding out, but there was to be slight scarring left behind. Still, she would keep the secret for him if that’s what he wanted.

“I was out for that long…?” Everil whispered with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I worried you…”

“What was that light?” asked a soft voice as the door opened and Leliana poked her head in, her eyes swollen from crying. A look of disbelief dawned on her upon seeing her sitting up, a gasp escaping her lips. “Maker, you’re alive!” She ran in, heading for the other side of the bed. Then she carefully wrapped her arms around her, tearfully pressing her cheek to hers. “Oh, thank the Maker! You scared me, Evy! Scared all of us!” 

“I’ll say…” Oghren walked in, glaring at the Warden while holding his ale flask... “You run off without me to play ‘hero saves the queen’ and come back all cut up and dying. What in the sodding Stone were you thinking?”

Everil couldn't help but smile slightly at their concern. “I’m sorry everyone...”

The rest of her companions made their way in, each one surrounding her bed, some expressing their relief to see she had lived with smiles on their faces. Even Riordan, who she barely knew, was with them in the room, grinning at her. Everil gazed up at them as she sat on that bed, moved by how much they cared for her well being, and happy that she’d made it through to see them again. 

Her gaze then went back to Alistair, who was still looking at her through loving eyes. She attempted to smile at him, her grip on his hand tightening a little.

“It looks like something terrible happened in my absence…” Arl Eamon’s voice interrupted their moment and silenced the chatter. He entered with a disquiet stare, his cloak still draped over his shoulders from having just returned to the estate.

“Arl Eamon,” Alistair greeted him tiredly.

With a subtle frown, the arl regarded both Wardens. “Are you all right, Warden Everil?”

Everil followed Eamon’s line of vision to their clasped hands. Her heart ached as she gently pulled her hand out from Alistair’s hold, receiving a hurt look she tried her best to ignore. 

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she tried to keep her tired body upright, her voice barely audible. “Much better than a minute ago… Thank you for asking, my lord.”

“Glad to hear it…” Eamon crossed his arms with a sigh. “Fortunately, you were all able to rescue Queen Anora. I can hardly believe Loghain would do such a thing to his own daughter. Did you find anything else we could use against him?”

“I…” She suddenly struggled to put everything that happened into words, her mind still in a haze as the memories rushed in and out. She held her head, a fainting spell causing her to swoon forward.

Alistair stood and turned to the arl, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “My lord... She’s weak and tired. Could we maybe discuss this later?”

Eamon paused, seeing the exhaustion on her face before nodding. “Very well... We are awaiting the arrival of the remaining nobles before the Landsmeet takes place, be ready to bring up your findings then. For now, Warden, please use this opportunity to recover and rest.”

“Thank you…” she murmured weakly. 

“I will be in my study should you need me. Alistair, please join me when you’re ready. I must prepare you for what is to come.”

Alistair sighed wearily. “I’ll be on my way in a few hours…”

“Do not delay much longer than that.” The arl sauntered out, disappearing around the corner.

“I should go get some sleep so I don’t nod off during his lectures…” Alistair jested half-heartedly as he turned to Everil.

“Yes… you should,” she replied in almost a whisper, her gaze glued to the blankets as she gripped them tightly in her fists. “You have to get ready for the Landsmeet…”

“Right…” He awkwardly reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later… Maybe…”

“Maybe...” 

Sighing miserably, Alistair trudged to the door as if the weight of the world were upon him. She looked up to watch him lean with one hand on the doorframe before he walked out, heading toward his room. The others—except for Morrigan—sent the two of them strange looks, unsure of what to make of the uncomfortable situation.

“Come now…” Wynne spoke, ushering the rest of them out. “We should let her rest.”

They all left as instructed, Morrigan being the last, leaving the other mage and Everil alone in the chamber. After closing the door, Wynne turned around and stepped up towards her bed, glancing over her as the Warden stared dejectedly at the blanket over her legs. Although she was happy to see her recovery, she still could not fathom just how the girl could even sit up after having witnessed the state she was in before. 

The pull of magic a moment ago told her Morrigan had been the one to save her life. But it was puzzling to her why the witch hadn't just done whatever it was she did while they were trying for countless hours to bring Everil back to a stable condition. There had to have been something else she missed. A spell she avoided using in front of her, yet was seemingly comfortable casting before Alistair. 

And Wynne found herself hesitant to ask either of them for an explanation. "Are you in any pain?" she asked as she leaned over to place her wrinkled hand over Everil's forehead, checking her temperature.

"Only soreness…" she said with a sigh. 

"But you hurt somewhere else..." Wynne smiled a little at her, gently brushing her bangs from her eyes.

Everil swallowed. "I do…"

"Leliana told me what happened at Howe's estate…" the old mage gave her a sympathetic look. "You avenged your family at last. But such a task must have put quite a strain on your emotions. And on top of that Alistair is set to wed someone else. You cannot continue holding in the pain to appear strong before others around you."

Breathing deeply, her gaze moved up to their mother-figure. "I know…"

"You may not wish to speak with Alistair any longer, but you should at least speak to me when you're ready. Or perhaps Leliana…” Wynne offered, stroking her hair. "Because you must also heal within if you are to continue fighting."

A small, sad smile tugged at Everil's lips. "Thank you, Wynne… but I would like some time alone for now. Please…”

“Of course…" She patted her shoulder. "Now, get some rest, child.”

Everil allowed her to adjust her pillow, then did as she was told, her body protesting with every move. Her hound hopped onto the foot of the bed, making himself comfortable as they watched the mage walk out, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She had brought an end to Howe at last but was too mentally exhausted to tell how she felt about it all. The only thing she wanted to think about was sleep. To forget everything in her slumber, if only for a few hours. To not think about how, although she had killed the man who destroyed her life, a sense of emptiness and loss remained. Or about the fact that she was about to lose Alistair forever. That she would wander the world alone, without his arms to hold her or the comfort of his words.

Sleep. All she wanted was sleep.


	14. Healing Your Bleeding Heart

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A _ _ rl Eamon’s lecture was nothing  _ but background noise to him as his thoughts constantly drifted back to her. He made a feeble attempt at figuring out whether he felt only sadness, anger, or spite towards the only woman he ever loved, finding instead that he felt all three. And although he knew why she was distancing herself from him, logic did nothing to help make him feel better. 

Another day had passed since they’d last spoken. Alistair imagined she was likely awake now considering she'd been asleep the last time he’d gone to see her a few hours ago. No one told him what happened at the estate and he hadn’t exactly had the time to ask. He wanted to know if she ran into Howe. If she succeeded in avenging her family or if he somehow avoided her wrath. 

If only he could escape the arl and seek answers from her. But would she even want to talk to him? 

A heavy sigh escaped him as Alistair leaned back in his chair, a cheek on one hand and his shoulders slumped as his mind continued to wander. 

“I can tell how entertained you are by all this, son,” Eamon said sarcastically from behind his desk, giving him a mildly annoyed stare.

Alistair looked away from him. “Sorry...”

“The Landsmeet will convene tomorrow. It is necessary for you to speak well before the nobles. You must remember proper etiquette, as well as proper protocol. Any misstep could prove fatal.”

Alistair gave a weak wave of his hand. "Don’t worry so much. It's not like they’ll behead me." 

“ _ They _ won’t, but if Loghain is victorious, he surely will. I would hate to see that happen, Alistair.” Eamon shook his head and stood, stepping around his desk and moving towards the fireplace. 

“It won't happen… Everil will be there, so I'm sure we'll make it through. She’s great with words.” 

“That is to be expected. Bryce would have taught her well.” Eamon sighed as he poked at the coals. “Had Cailan not perished, he would have no doubt hung Howe for his transgression.”

"Yes… He said he would before he died." Alistair scowled, his tone hinted with disgust. "I'll follow through on his promise if I become king. That snake doesn’t deserve any titles… or anything else for that matter.”

"Agreed…" The arl straightened up and glanced over his shoulder upon hearing the threat in his tone, sensing the issue was more personal than it appeared. He placed the poke back in its place before turning to face him. “I am curious… Have you known the young Cousland for long?”

“I was there when her family was killed… Duncan and I recruited her,” Alistair quietly replied, still avoiding his stare. His gaze dropped to the floor. “And I really couldn't have made it this far without her.” 

The arl didn’t miss the ache that crossed his face when he said those words, and he understood then why he was so reluctant to wed the queen. He clasped his hands behind his back, regarding him with knowing eyes. “I see…” 

After a brief moment of silence, Alistair rose to his feet. “May I go now...? I'd like to check on her.”

Eamon nodded slowly. “Make sure to rest well tonight. I will see you early morn. We will be going to the palace then.”

“I will...” he answered with a nod before heading out.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Everil set her empty cup of tea on the nightstand after it helped soothe the soreness in her throat. She absently stared out the window from her bed, leaning back against the headboard as she solemnly admired the twinkling stars. Her fireplace warmed the room, lightly shielding her from the chilly breeze flowing from the outside while its light cast dancing shadows against the walls. 

She had slept the day away despite the occasional visits from her friends. Each time she put on smiles, then claimed to be tired and in need of more sleep. Yet it had all been an excuse. A lie so they’d leave her alone with her thoughts and with her sorrow.

She had yet to shed a tear, stubbornly keeping herself from caving and showing those around her how she truly felt. From the very beginning, their impossible task demanded nothing but strength and determination from her, and so she stood tall for her companions, even in the worst of situations. Because no one ever wished to see his or her leader break like thin glass, especially when there was so much weight already on their shoulders.

Inside, however, she wanted to be just a normal woman. A human who could finally mourn those she lost and weep over the one she was forced to let go of for the sake of others. She struggled to keep up with the dark thoughts circling her brain, her chest compressed so tight it physically hurt. 

A whine made her crane her head down to see her dog’s worried face.

“I’m sorry, boy…” She weakly scratched his ear. “I know you want me to smile.”

Bjorn whined again and gently licked her hand. 

“I just need a little more time… Can you stay with me in the meanwhile?”

He let out a soft bark, nuzzling her palm. 

A knock came through the relative silence, her head lazily turning to it. The mabari’s ears twitched, sniffing the air as he gazed towards the sound.

“Come in…" she called back softly, not really wishing for visitors, but knowing they would enter to check on her anyway.

The door opened, and her heart wrenched upon seeing who it was.

“Hey…” Alistair greeted quietly, his troubled stare meeting hers from across the bedroom. 

Everil felt herself swallow, trying to push down the knot forming in her throat. “Hi…” 

He cautiously stepped in. “How are you feeling?”

“Wynne came by to help me bathe… Then Morrigan gave me a remedy to help with the soreness.” She gripped the edge of the sheets as she gazed at her hands. “Then I had some tea from Leliana… So... I guess I’m feeling better...”

He came to stand at the side of the bed, his closeness causing her to stiffen. “Are you… sure?”

“Yes… I’m fine. You need not worry about me any longer,” she whispered shakily, his presence tugging at the deep sorrow inside her. 

“Don’t say that...” he murmured with a hurt look. “I almost lost you… And you know how that feels.”

His words reminded her of the battle against Flemeth, his broken form flashing in her memories and causing her grip on the blankets to tighten. She'd hated seeing him in that bed, broken and fighting for his life. The possibility of losing him then had stabbed her like a knife and now she felt the same way once more. Only he would be alive and with someone else.

"You should go,” she told him curtly, still avoiding him.

Her frigid tone pierced him as sadness overtook his features. Just days ago they'd slept in each other’s arms, basking in the comfort their warm embrace brought. Why did it all have to change?

“Why are you doing this?” he asked in nearly a whisper.

“I already told you…” Her eyebrows descended into a frustrated frown as she struggled with her feelings. “It’s over...”

“So you expect me to just stop loving you?” he questioned bitterly, fists closing at his sides. “To just forget about you and move on to a life I didn’t even want? With a woman I don't love? I can’t do that!”

_ Why…?  _ The desperate words crossed Everil's mind, straining her self control. She couldn't speak out of fear of breaking. Couldn't say a word to his justified anger.

“You've already given up enough for Ferelden. Your family, your humanity…” he continued, more insistent, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Don't give me up too!"

Everil clenched her jaw, tears welling up in her eyes.  _ Why are you making this so difficult…? _

“You’re the only one I—”

“Stop!” she snapped in a high-pitched voice, glaring up at him. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore! I don't want to be with you anymore! Please, just leave me alone!” The moment those words left her mouth, Everil paled in horror, the pain-stricken look on his face hitting her like a punch to the gut. And just like that, she felt as if she were the worst possible human being to ever walk their miserable world. The most terrible creature in all of Thedas. Even worse than the dreaded darkspawn.

Unable to speak, she saw the sorrow in him turn into subdued anger, his warm hand slowly pulling away and leaving her feeling cold. "All right…” he breathed out, also finding it difficult to talk. “If that’s how you really feel… then I'll do whatever makes you happy…”

She desperately watched him turn his back to her before he stalked towards the door. 

_ Wait ...  _ Regret clutched at Everil's chest as time stalled. But she couldn't call for him, couldn't reach for him. She could only stare in a stupor as each step took him farther and farther away from her. And the closer he got to leaving, the more her loneliness grew, threatening to overtake her until there was nothing left. 

For she had no family and no one to love her as he did. 

She had no one.

Because she’d failed them all.

If only she’d been stronger. If only she had realized Howe’s betrayal before it was too late.

If only she were strong enough to speak up and ask him to stay. 

If only…

_ Please wait… _

Everil needed his arms, his love, and his compassion. She needed him.

As the door began to close, she weakly swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, stumbling as she tried to run after him. 

_ Wait! _

Her legs buckled from underneath her, too weak still to carry her weight as she fell on her knees. The door clicked to a close, shutting her from his light, his warmth, and his love, leaving her stranded in this frozen, barren darkness she despised.

“Don’t go…” Her voice sounded small to her ears as her shoulders shook and she could no longer control her breathing.

The pressure quickly became too much, her chest so tight it felt as if it would burst. Then the secret place in which she'd kept all of her grief cracked, smashing like clay and scattering its precious contents all over her. And no matter how much she scrambled to pick up the pieces, there were just too many for her to carry on her own. 

_ Don’t leave me… _

She heaved as tears flowed freely down her face, dripping down to the ground as she hugged herself with a miserable string of broken sobs.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair let out a quivering sigh, finding it difficult to breathe through the weight in his heart. He took a few steps down the hall, wanting nothing but to be as far away from her as he could. To find solace in the emptiness of his own chambers. But a sudden tug made him stop in his tracks, drawing his puzzled gaze to the hound pulling on his cloak. 

Bjorn whined at him, his jaws stubbornly holding on to the fabric. 

“You followed me out…?” Alistair muttered awkwardly.

He let out a low growl, then a series of whimpers.

“You heard what she said, boy…” He lowered himself to a knee, meeting the hound’s gaze while gently petting his head. “I can’t be with her anymore.”

The dog let go of him and barked once. He growled lightly in apparent frustration and ran back to sit next to her door. Then he threw back his head to release a weak howl before his brown eyes returned to a perplexed Alistair. 

He frowned at the hound, knowing the pup rarely behaved that way unless something was wrong. “What are you—”

He stilled as it all dropped on him like a ton of rocks. What about her feelings? What about her?

So focused was he on himself and on his own misery, that he didn’t even ask about Howe’s fate. He hadn’t questioned her about the bastard who ruined her. The one she possibly fought in that mansion to bring closure to her family’s death. And the reason her eyes seemed so haunted and lost when she'd looked at him.

_ “I have no right to mourn their deaths until Howe lies dead at my feet.”  _ Her words from when it all began seemed to echo within him.

"Shit…" Alistair bolted up and hurried to her chambers, not caring about whether or not she would cast him out once more. 

He burst in, and when he saw her, he immediately regretted leaving her. 

Everil was quivering on the cold floor, weeping brokenly. “A... Alistair…” she sobbed, her face twisting in agony.

The door closed behind him, leaving the hound to stand guard outside as quick steps took him to her. He went on one knee and embraced her, holding her tightly to him as she let herself crumble in his arms. Her body shook with fits of uncontrollable sobs, hands grabbing fistfuls of his cloak as she buried her face in his chest. The moisture of her tears seeped into the fabric of his shirt as she wailed and wept, her cries muffled as he shielded her from the rest of the world.

“I killed him…” she choked out between intakes of air. “I killed Howe… but it still hurts… it hurts so much...”

“Shh… I know…” he soothed, kissing the crown of her head while stroking her back.

“They're gone…” she continued hoarsely, drowning in her misery. “My father… my mother… everyone is still gone…”

“I’m sorry, my love… I’m so sorry...” His fingers brushed her hair as he tried to ease her suffering. He knew there had been no time for her to cope with the loss since the very beginning. She’d held in these emotions for so long, kept them bottled up just to stay strong in every battle they fought, in every quest she led. It was always the war first. Always the fate of others over her own.

It took a long moment for her quivering to subside and she drew in deep breaths, reaching up to wipe her nose with her sleeve. “Ng… I… I should have stayed behind that night… But like a coward, I ran. I failed them all...”

“Everil…” He lightly pulled back from her, then carefully tilted her chin up. “You know that’s not true.”

“But…”

“There was nothing any of us could have done. Your parents also knew there was no other way. If you had stayed, you would have died and Howe would have gone unpunished for what he did." He held her face between his hands, his thumbs tenderly wiping away her tears. But more slid down her flushed cheeks, raining over his lap as she gazed into his eyes. He held his breath for a moment, admiring her beauty despite the redness of her nose and the light swell that now framed her glistening blue orbs.

“And you know what else...?” Alistair murmured as he offered her a small, sad smile, gentle fingers brushing chocolate locks from her face. “Had you stayed… I wouldn't have known the privilege of falling in love with you. So I’m glad you came with me back then... I’m glad you’re here...”

Another sob escaped her, his sweet words giving her a slight breath of life while also tearing apart her resolve. She’d never felt so vulnerable. So fragile and alone. And she wished for nothing more than to be in his arms a while longer. To feel his touch and his lips over her skin. To drown her sorrows by losing herself in him. “Alistair...” Everil gulped and leaned up lightly, brushing her lips along his jaw, eyes sliding shut as she took in his earthy scent. 

The subtle caress sent chills coursing down his spine and the air caught in his throat, the way she whispered his name stirring something inside him. A quiet rumble rose from deep within his throat as he lovingly nuzzled her hair, the soft sigh that escaped his lips grazing her brow.

"Please, my love..." came her quiet plea, her breath warm against his chin. “Lay with me tonight…”

His heartbeat quickened as he began to lightly press and brush his warm lips over her temple. "You’re sure that’s what you want…?”

“Yes…” She shivered in his arms, her hands crawling over his chest. “Please… I need you...” 

The desire to hold her and heal her filled his very being, easily tearing apart his restraints and robbing him of the ability to think about anything but them.

Damn the Landsmeet and the nobles, and the politics.

Damn the queen and her demands.

Damn it all tonight.

Alistair released a soft breath as he leaned closer, their lips brushing in a soft kiss as a tear rolled down her cheek. Then he kissed her again, lightly suckling on her quivering bottom lip, tasting in it the salt of her tears and the sweetness of honey from her tea. A feeble sound left her as he savored her, his tenderness taming her nerves better than any other remedy.

She weakly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a more passionate, yet bittersweet kiss. And as their tongues slowly waltzed, one arm slid behind her back and the other slithered under her legs, scooping her up. He rose to his feet with her, carrying her as if she were his bride while crossing the short distance to the bed. 

He laid her upon the mattress, claiming her lips once more as he carefully climbed in with her, kneeling over her with one of her slightly bent legs between both of his. Alistair leaned on one forearm and gently cupped the side of her face, moaning quietly as he savored her petals. Their tongues moved together in a slow, loving dance, exploring one another as his growing erection brushed against her thigh.

It had only been weeks since the last intimate moment they’d shared, kept apart by duty and responsibility. Yet it felt like a decade of waiting. As if he were deprived of the taste of her. The warmth of her body under his own. The softness of her touch. The melody of her moans.

Everil laced her fingers through his hair as she adjusted beneath him, opening her legs to let him lay between them. And sighing heavily, Alistair obeyed, her soft moans driving him as he passionately devoured her lips. She shivered as his wandering hand deliberately slid under her gown, trailing up along her thigh, fingers like feathers leaving goosebumps in their wake as he exposed her hips to him. 

Maker, how she loved to feel his touch against her skin. How she relished the way he explored her as if he'd discovered new land each and every time. How she craved to do the same with him.

He groaned between kisses while absently grinding against her, his bulge pulsing excitedly as it rubbed along her throbbing sex. Each teasing stroke caused her hips to buck, meeting his as electrifying sensations spread, resonating from her center in gentle waves. A calloused hand then came to clasp her breast, kneading and massaging as he felt her firm nipple beneath the gown. He pinched and twisted the bud gently between his fingers, earning a feeble, yet desperate whimper.

Everil couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted to touch his skin. To feel his muscles under her fingertips one last time as he made love to her.

With her pulse racing, Everil undid the buckles on his gambeson, hands trembling as she worked off the straps one by one. He released a breath, lips still upon her own as he reached up to unclasp the cloak from around his neck before letting it slide off to the side. Then he withdrew from her now swollen lips, leaning back upon his knees to rid himself of his armor and shirt. 

She hungrily admired his chiseled body, impatient fingers traveling over his abs, tracing their perfect outline as he watched her from above. They retracted under her caress, the tingling feeling making him shudder beneath her touch. He dropped the clothes at the side of the bed, then lowered himself upon her, letting her soft hands crawl over his sides and up his torso.

Alistair brushed his lips along her jawline, then lower towards her neck. She gasped softly as his mouth slowly made its way down her beating pulse, then to her collarbone, each kiss setting her skin ablaze. He gently pulled her gown down, exposing her hardened nipples to the cool air as Everil shivered involuntarily. 

His kisses continued traveling over her chest, then between her perky pillows, patient and moist. His mouth then climbed up one of her soft mounds, heading towards the peak. Everil felt his warm cave envelop her sensitive bud, drawing a drawn-out groan out of her while his other hand grasped her other mound. Then came gentle vibrations as he hummed blissfully into her bosom, suckling noisily on her nipple while he kneaded and massaged her breast in slow, agonizing circles.

"Hmm…” she moaned and arched her back to him as he unleashed tingling ripples that traversed her entire body. His tongue stroked the soft flesh around her peak, then pressed to it, flicking repeatedly as she mewled with need. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to think, to continue dwelling on those painful memories of the past. Her mind was but a fog, and she welcomed it with open arms. For she wanted nothing but to drift in it and forget. Forget about everything.

Then he switched to her other breast. His wet mouth claimed her nipple, noisily sucking on it as she struggled to keep her breathing under control. His hand then came to the peak now drying under the cool air and he pinched and pulled, the roughness of his fingers against the slightly raw skin making her squeal and writhe beneath him. “Alistair…” she pleaded weakly, gazing down at him through bleary eyes. "Alistair, please…"

As if answering her call, his hand made its way down to her now soaked underwear. Then he tugged and pulled at the knot holding it in place, tearing it loose before removing the obstacle from his path. He jerked slightly as he kicked off his boots, letting them drop carelessly from the bed. Then a smacking sound came as he released her breast from his mouth to lean back onto his knees once more. 

His gaze shamelessly held hers as he undid the string of his trousers, then pulled them down his hips, freeing his hard member. She wore her bottom lip while watching him, his erection pointing towards her, pulsing in anticipation as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing. Then his rough hands went up to her hips, sliding up her skirts and exposing her moist sex to him. 

The sweet, musky scent of her reached his nose and he licked his lips, staring at her beautiful flower as it glistened in the dim light. With a small, wicked smile, he shifted back on the mattress and lowered his mouth to her womb. He whisked his lips over her soft skin, making her shiver as he sprinkled more kisses, heading further south. 

Shivering, Everil whimpered and watched as he nuzzled her dark curls, his hands further bending her knees and spreading her legs. She gulped. "Ali—ah!" 

A wet, warm feeling slithered up between her folds and graced her clit, immediately disrupting her ability to reason. Alistair groaned softly as his tongue stroked her petals once more, savoring her sweet ambrosia. Each drawn out lick graced her pulsing bulb, making it twitch beneath it, her hips jolting up, urging him on. 

He smiled inwardly as he continued messily lapping at her sex, enjoying her passionate moans while playing her like a lute. Then he closed his eyes as his mouth enveloped her, pulling and suckling on her slick flesh as she mewled in ecstasy. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel good. To help dispel her pain by bringing her only pleasure. 

A finger sliding into her drew a loud gasp out of her, the feeling causing her to throb. He focused on licking her clit as he began to slowly pump the digit in and out, the combination triggering an onslaught of delicious electricity.

“Maker…!" she gasped breathlessly, hips bucking as she grabbed on to his dirty blond hair. Wet sounds filled the room as he sucked and licked, his finger gliding back and forth, drawing more of her juices with every pump. He then curled his digit each time it reached in, stroking a sensitive spot within her as she whined loudly for him. 

Alistair slid in a second finger, making her squeal with both pleasure and surprise as he thrust his hand faster. Each pump matched the rhythm of his tongue as he sloppily flicked her throbbing bud and soon everything was a blur. Her brain unable to register what was happening or where she was. All she could feel was his mouth and his fingers and the quickly intensifying sensations they unleashed upon her as she struggled to breathe. 

"Ah… I-I can't!" she gasped helplessly, her grip on the edge of the precipice she hung from quickly slipping.

He ignored her, groaning against her hot center, the vibrations weakening her hold until she had no choice but to let go. She bit down her scream as she plummeted towards the raging waters below, the sharp, electrifying sensations causing her pelvis to jolt up with every surge.

"Hmm…" Alistair hummed against her sex as he felt her walls pulse and throb around his fingers, finding his hand now soaked with her essence. His thrusts slowed to an agonizing speed as he lapped at her wetness, wiping her clean as the mind-numbing waves continued to wash over her trembling body.

Everil swallowed, overwhelmed by it all as her dazed eyes glistened with the light of the fireplace. She watched him lick his lips, her chest heaving as she blinked away tears. And he took notice as he made his way up to her, gently pressing wet kisses to her cheek as she shakily wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Did I hurt you…?” he murmured.

“N-No…” Everil answered weakly, again feeling as if she were about to cry. "It's just… I… I love you…"

Alistair paused for a moment, registering those words after all they'd been through over the past few days. A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I love you too…" he whispered to her, his deep voice filled with emotion. "More than anything..." 

His lips then sought hers again, giving her loving kisses as he reached between them to grip his engorged member. Then he pressed the tip against her soaked entrance, feeling himself pulse expectantly as a shuddering breath left him. "Hrm…" he purred into the corner of her mouth as he entered her, stretching her as she whimpered Oh, how he loved the feeling of her surrounding him until all he could feel was her. How he enjoyed feeling her clench possessively around him as if he belonged to her and no one else. 

His chest constricted at the thought, realizing that soon, that may no longer be so. Marrying Anora would mean being forced to lie with her to produce an heir, whether he wanted to or not. He mentally shook his head, dispelling the troubling thoughts as he softly nuzzled her temple.

Heartache intertwined painfully with her love for him, causing her eyes to burn with unshed tears as they became one for what was to be the last time. She wrapped her legs around his waist and whimpered as she swallowed the miserable feeling, trying to focus instead on him. On how every inch of him felt as he began to move with gentle, deliberate thrusts.

“Maker, I’ve missed you so…” Alistair groaned lustfully as he kissed his way along her cheek, relishing the feeling of her slick folds as they dragged over him. He kept thrusting in and out of her tunnel, at a steady, careful pace, trying to be gentle with her despite her reassurances. 

“So have I…” Everil whispered breathlessly and ran her fingers up his back, touching his hard muscles. Each time their hips met was bliss, gradually rekindling the fire in her core as the friction prolonged the pleasurable sensations flowing through her. If only he could stay with her. If only she could have his touch, his kisses, and his voice to herself forever.

She wanted to remember him. To never forget his smile and his loving stare for as long as she lived. 

Seeking to see his face, she slowly rolled them over and leaned up over him, mounting him as if he were her steed. Everil whined as she stared lustfully at him from above and lifted her hips, then lowered them, her movements just as deliberate as his. Whimpering softly, she took hold of her gown and slipped it up and over her head, the fireplace illuminating her nude body.

“Everil…” he moaned quietly, hands coming to rest on her hips as the sensual view intensified the sensations around him. His eyes traveled her every curve, taking in the way her breasts lightly bounced each time she descended upon him. Then his gaze caught sight of something more, his heart wrenching lightly at the new mark upon her body.

She drew in a breath when his fingers gently traced her firm stomach, caressing the new, rose-colored scar the enemy had left upon her.

“Another scar for my collection…” she murmured sadly.

He sat up to give her a brief, yet passionate kiss as his arms gingerly wrapped around her waist. “They're all beautiful... ” he whispered against her lips, his chest pressed to hers as his open palms caressed her bare back. 

Everil moaned feebly and sought his lips as she continued her gradual movements, their tongues dancing slowly as their breaths mixed. Her hands went over his broad shoulders, then her arms around his neck, holding onto him just as firmly as he held her. She suckled and gently nibbled on his bottom lip as their kiss became more heated, more passionate. 

Then she was moving faster. Up, then down. Up, then down. The wet noises coming from their joined bodies growing louder as her walls gripped him, sliding along his length.

"Ah, yes... just like that," he groaned in between kisses before his lips trailed along her jaw and to her throat as his hands slid came to grab her by the hips. She gasped and gripped his shoulders for support and then he folded his legs to give her more room. He grunted, his biceps flexing as he took on some of her weight, moving her up and down. She squealed loudly, descending upon him, only to rise and fall once more. 

"Hnn…!" Everil rolled her head back with a soft moan, granting him better access to her drumming pulse, intoxicated by his touch, and yearning for more. His fingers dug into her flesh as he helped her, keeping her rhythm going as his member slid in and out of her aching depths.

Her skin felt as if it were on fire, the friction between their sweating bodies taking over her senses. “More…” she whined, gasping for air as beads of sweat rolled down her brow. “I want… more…”

And she was on her back again, pinned down beneath his solid body as he began to plunge into her. Faster, harder. He sought their release with abandon, their groins slapping together as loud moans left her. 

Alistair panted for breath as his hand went up to hers, separating it from his shoulder and pressing it to the mattress as his fingers laced with her own. "Ah… Ah, yes…" he whispered as he kissed her lips, then her cheek, then her neck as he continued to make love to her, every caress carrying the passion and tenderness she longed for. 

“Oh, don't stop…!" she choked out, her hand gripping his tightly, knuckles turning white. She swallowed and breathed through parted lips, her pulse racing uncontrollably as her moans grew louder with every deep, hard thrust.

“That's it, love…” he huffed, then pushed himself up to look into her eyes, continuing his assault upon her core. "That's it… come for me...”

"Yes…! Oh, Maker, yes!' Everil squealed breathlessly as she stared into his amber pools, the lust within them luring her further towards the waiting currents while his hard pumps shoved her closer to a second release. Her free hand gripped his arm, nails digging into his skin as she felt herself being swept away. She suddenly constricted around him, increasing the friction with every thrust of his rod and forcibly dragging him over the rapids with her.

Their eyes remained locked as he came with one last plunge, raw pleasure painting his handsome face as a guttural groan escaped his throat. He poured himself into her, her throbbing loins greedily taking his seed as he shook and quivered above her. He brought up the hand he'd been holding, closing his eyes as he breathlessly kissed it, his movements gradually slowing until his thrusts became a gentle caress. They rode the waves of their climax as they ebbed away, leaving them both suspended in what felt like a dream.

Everil licked her lips and swallowed as he released his hold on her, his hand then coming to rest tenderly on the side of her face. And as her eyes traced his features she stifled a sob once more, mourning what was to come once they awakened from their slumber. Tears once again welled up in her eyes and a mournful smile graced her lips. 

A subtle frown creased his brow as he lowered his mouth to hers for a soft, bittersweet kiss. "Please… don't cry." 

"Will you… spend the night here with me?" she pleaded, her eyes already feeling heavy. "Please…?"

"Yes… I promise not to leave your side until morning…" He pressed his forehead to hers as he sighed deeply. "Now, rest… No more tears, my dear."

_ Until morning….  _ She echoed woefully as she weakly wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him until exhaustion claimed her.


	15. The Landsmeet

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ S _ _ omething wet dragged along her  _ cheek, causing her to groan sleepily as her eyes slid open. The light of the morning sun shone brightly through her only window, showering the room with its gentle warmth and causing her to squint. A large snout then entered her line of vision, followed by a pink tongue as it gently lapped at her face. “Bjorn…” she muttered as her hand came up to lazily pet his head. 

He whined once, bumping her arm with his nose.

Mind still groggy from sleep, she rolled over, instinctively reaching towards the other side of the bed. But her heart fell upon finding it empty, the spot where he’d laid beside her now cold under her palm. She slowly pushed herself to a sitting position, bringing her sheets up to cover her bare chest as a cool breeze blew in and made her shiver. 

Her mabari licked her arm with worried eyes, drawing her attention back to him.

“Don’t worry, boy…" she assured him. "I’m feeling better now.”

A knock made them look towards the door, the hound's ears perking up. She half expected it to be Alistair, but when it cracked open, Leliana’s head poked in instead. “Evy?”

Everil tried to hide her disappointment with a smile. “Hi, Leliana. Is it just you?”

“Morrigan is with me.” 

“You may come in, then.”

With a smile of her own, Leliana stepped into the room, carrying a package in her arms while Morrigan walked in behind her.

“I see you no longer look like one of the dead,” the witch pointed out with a slight smirk, carrying a tray. She approached the side of her bed. “Here. I prepared this for you.”

“What is it?” Everil's nose curled slightly at the smell as Morrigan placed the tray on her lap. It had a bowl sitting on it, with what appeared to be a sort of porridge, only with an odd purple color and strange herbs mixed in. 

Morrigan sternly folded her arms. “You need not know. Just eat. ‘Twill help you regain your strength.”

“All right...” Everil tentatively picked up the spoon and scooped up some of the paste before cautiously taking a bite. She coughed at the sour taste, unable to keep herself from making a face in disgust. 

“You are such a child…” The witch chuckled teasingly. “'Tis not  _ that _ bad.” 

Meanwhile, Leliana was placing what she brought on the chair nearby, speaking as she untied the string around the paper used to wrap it. “We had your armor cleaned and repaired. The blacksmiths in Denerim are quite skilled! It’s almost as if it were brand new.” 

Everil licked the bitter taste off her lips as she glanced towards the redhead. “Thank you.”

“By the way, I saw Alistair walk out of the room earlier this morning,” Leliana said before turning to approach her. “Are things… back to normal between the two of you?”

There was a brief pause as Everil returned to the bowl of porridge, almost distant. “Where is he?” she quietly asked, dodging the question. 

“He and Arl Eamon left the estate ahead of us and the queen,” Leliana answered with a troubled frown. “The arl said they had something to do and to meet them at the palace when you're ready.”

"Typical male…" Morrigan scoffed, shooting the closed door a dirty look. “He sleeps with you, then sneaks out to wed some other woman. Coward...”

Trying to avoid the uncomfortable conversation, Everil silently stared at her food, chewing on the odd tasting contents with a heavy heart. Yet she wondered why he left without saying anything to her. Without at least some last assurances before leaving her side for good.

_ No. No more. He has his duty, and you have yours. Enough self-pity. _

She steeled herself, her expression sharpening in determination. There was too much at stake. She had to face this day without letting her emotions get in the way. However painful it may be.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Two royal guards brought her and her party to where the Landsmeet was to take place. They opened the first set of doors, allowing them entrance into a long hall illuminated by arched windows at one side. Everil went in, clad in full gear, and with weapons at her sides as she walked ahead of the others, crossing the distance to the great double doors ahead. The severe stares of the soldiers standing in the room followed them as they passed, still as statues.

Already they could hear voices coming from the Landsmeet chamber, echoing out as the nobles talked amongst themselves. But they went silent when Everil pushed open the gates, cutting off their conversation. Her focus remained on her path forward as she made her way in, chin held high as if she owned the place. 

The nobles all observed her from the sides or from the balconies above, surprised by the interruption.

Arl Eamon and Alistair were standing at the center of the room, turning their heads to them as she approached. Gone was the nobleman’s attire Alistair had been wearing, replaced by an intricately made steel plate armor engraved with golden patterns and his father’s sword at his hip. A deep blue cloak hung from his shoulders, this time without his Grey Warden shield. 

“My apologies for being late,” Everil said for all in the room to hear, a slight smirk on her face as she stopped a distance from the two men.

Alistair gazed at her with a hint of both disbelief and remorse. Just the night before he’d seen her fall apart in his arms. Yet now there she was, standing tall before them as if nothing happened. He smiled a little, admiring her strength and resilience. This despite knowing how uncomfortable she was with their situation and how hurt she probably felt by his unexpected departure that morning.

“It’s quite all right, Warden Cousland,” Eamon replied to her, hands clasped behind his back. “I am pleased to see you are feeling well again.” 

A chorus of whispers erupted from all corners of the chamber, triggered by the arl’s use of her name.

“Is that Bryce’s youngest?” a blonde lady wearing a purple silk dress whispered to a brown-haired man next to her, staring at the Warden from afar. “Andraste's mercy... I thought she was dead.” 

“Aye. So did I,” the man responded in bewilderment, arms folded over his red tunic.

“Hrmm…’ A minor lord on the balcony above stroked his black beard, a hand over the belt of his gray gambeson. “I’ll bet she was the one who killed Howe.”

“Oh, but she was,” said a redhead lady clad in green beside him. “Though I could not believe it at first.”

“Good on her.” He huffed, scowling. “That snake deserved it, Maker forgive me. The Couslands were good to their people.”

Another nobleman leaned over the rails and eyed the Warden, dressed in tan and white, brown hair tousled from the horse ride to the palace. “I heard they were actually dealing with the Orlesians…” he said with a quirked eyebrow. “Isn’t that why Howe killed them?”

“Pure hogwash!” the bearded lord scoffed. “Where’d you hear that from, lad? From Howe himself? Come now. Lot of us knew he was a two-faced liar. ‘swhy he had so few friends.”

Ignoring the chatter, Everil turned her attention to Alistair, smirk broadening. “You seem calm. Or am I just imagining things?”

Alistair blinked at her as if snapped out of a spell. “Oh! Yes. I’m… totally keeping it together here.”

She chuckled lightly and winked at him. “It'll be all right. Trust me.”

He smiled at her. “You know that I do.”

His loving stare brought a light blush to her face and she had to avert her eyes to keep a firm hold on her resolve.

“Ah, it appears both criminals are now here.” 

A booming voice made the entire room grow quiet before all occupants shifted their attention to Loghain. He stalked in from the opposite side of the chamber, clad in full steel armor and with a sword at his back as a retinue of soldiers followed him. His heavy steps echoed, bringing him to a stop a distance from the three people seeking to challenge him. 

Cold, battle-worn eyes moved from Alistair to Everil, and then to Eamon as he surveyed his opposition with a hard expression. “You are fortunate I don’t just have the guards throw you all into Fort Drakon for all you’ve done in Denerim,” he said to them, the chilled tone carrying with it a silent threat.

“Let us keep things civil, Loghain…” Eamon regarded him calmly, unfazed by the man’s chilling glare. “We called upon this Landsmeet to discuss Ferelden’s future, not for petty squabbles.”

“Squabbles, you say? Ferelden’s future?” he scoffed at him. “How rich of you, old friend. You seek to place a puppet on the throne, to manipulate and control as you see fit, while you rule Ferelden from the sidelines. This isn’t about petty squabbles. It’s about protecting my country. I will not allow it to happen.” 

Alistair clenched his jaw, willing himself to follow the arl’s instruction to keep his temper in check as he bit his tongue. Maker, how he hated this man.

“I seek no such thing and you know this,” Eamon replied, loud enough for all in the room to hear. “Alistair is Maric’s son. And as Ferelden’s last surviving prince, he has the right to the throne. He has come on his own accord to unify us all under his father’s name once more. I am simply lending him my aid.”

“Maric’s blood may course through his veins, but the boy lacks the knowledge and experience required to rule,” Loghain countered as he looked up at the nobles surrounding them. “Ferelden is in disarray. She requires a knowledgeable ruler, now more than ever. I can lead you to victory against the darkspawn and all who oppose us, as I did when I fought alongside Maric to cast the Orlesians out of our lands thirty years ago.”

An older lord addressed him, an uncomfortable expression on his wrinkled face. “Your experience was never questioned, Regent Loghain. Your motivations, however…”

Loghain’s brow furrowed. “My motiva—”

“You left my nephew to die in Ostagar," Eamon cut him off, his accusation carrying an edge of ire he couldn’t contain. “You betrayed his trust and took your men out of the battlefield when you could have at least saved his life.” 

“Cailan’s blind faith in legends was what caused his demise. The Grey Wardens filled his head with fantasies and lured him towards his doom. If anyone should be blamed and executed for his death, it should be these two who stand before you!” Loghain gestured towards Everil and Alistair, then glared heatedly at the arl. “Eamon, your old age is affecting your reason. Perhaps you should have stayed in Redcliffe and left Ferelden’s problems to me.”

“Is that why you tried to kill him? To keep him out of the way?” 

Everyone turned to Everil, whose fierce blues were upon the regent. She folded her arms, then continued. “You sent a desperate maleficar to poison Arl Eamon, nearly killing him and his entire family in the process. And not only that, but you had the templar hunting him imprisoned in order to keep him from ruining your plans.”

Surprise flashed over his face, but contempt swiftly replaced it. “You have no proof of that, Warden.”

“I do, actually.” Everil reached into her pocket, producing a ring and lifting it for all to see. “This ring has the symbol of a ship’s mast over rolling waves. I'm certain one of you knows who it belongs to.”

“Lady Everil… It’s me, Bann Alfstanna Eremon,” a brunette called from above, her red skirt pouring from under the balcony’s rail as she leaned over it. “That sounds like my family’s heraldry. Show me the ring please.”

"Certainly," Everil approached the railing and tossed the piece of jewelry up at her.

Alfstanna caught it with both hands, then rotated it, fingers shaking as she recognized the familiar symbol etched over it. “I… I had this made for my brother before he left to join the templars.”

“Your brother died in Howe’s prison after having been deprived of lyrium for too long. He was delirious when he asked me to give that to you," Everil said with sympathy “I'm sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Thank you…” she whispered as tears burned in her eyes, her hand closing around the ring. The bann cast an enraged glare upon Loghain, her voice strained. “You bastard…”

“Teyrn Loghain.” Denerim’s Revered Mother, a voice of influence in Ferelden’s religious politics, regarded the general from the same balcony, outraged by the news. “How dare you interfere with a templar’s sacred duties! The Chantry will not forgive such insolent transgression against the Maker!”

“If I must atone for anything I have done, then I will do so before the Maker himself.” Loghain’s expression showed not a sliver of remorse, his indignant stare shifting around the room. "All I have done thus far has been to secure Ferelden's independence and keep us from those who seek to invade our nation and enslave our people.” He met Everil’s unwavering eyes. “And now I am trying to protect us from traitors like her...” He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Tell us, Grey Warden! How much are the Orlesians paying you to do this? How much is Fereldan honor worth these days!"

“You dare question my loyalty to my country? After everything my family and I have sacrificed for it?” Everil's anger quickly rose within her. "No, Loghain! You don't get to throw such accusations towards me after all you have done! Besides, Orlais is not the threat here. The Blight is!"

"I agree," Alfstanna interjected. “The Couslands have never given us reason to doubt their loyalty, while  _ you  _ have. And right now, there are a great many refugees in my lands who will agree that the Blight is the real threat here.”

Mutters and whispers followed the bann’s words, most agreeing with her while others expressed concerns about the Orlesians’ lingering influence in Ferelden's politics. 

“Fools,” Loghain uttered venomously. “What good will it do to defeat those monsters when having a weak king will only give our enemies the opportunity to enslave us once more!”

“You continue using that word as if you yourself were against it when in reality you are nothing but a hypocrite.” Everil crossed her arms, her voice returning to a calm, calculated tone. "Whatever happened to the elves you sold, Loghain? Is slavery only right when you condone it?"

Outraged whispers filled the room as the nobles exchanged shocked and horrified glances.

Eamon watched the Warden from where he and Alistair still stood, listening to her talk with the boldness and sway of any politician. Though it didn’t surprise him—considering who she was—he still hadn’t expected her to take control of the Landsmeet so easily.  _ She certainly knows how to play the game… _

“I will not deny that…” Loghain's tone was heavy with what appeared to be regret as he attempted to explain, the nobles scrutinizing his every word. “The elves would have no way of surviving once the Blight reached Denerim. It was a necessary—!"

“Is torture necessary too?” Everil’s accusing voice sounded out again as she confidently walked around the chamber, eyeing the shocked crowd. “Is that how you keep control over the masses? Because when I entered Howe’s estate he was torturing Bann Sighard’s son merely for speaking against you!”

“What?” a few nobles said out loud, some of the women covering their mouths.

“She speaks the truth!” Bann Sighard spoke up from the ground floor, anger twisting his aging face. “My son Oswyn hasn’t been the same since he came back from that wretched place! He can’t even raise his arms, the poor lad!”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Loghain protested in exasperation. “Howe was his own man. Whatever he did in his own home was his own damn business!”

"But you gave the orders!" Everil whirled around and pointed a finger at him. “Everything Howe did was always tied to you. His actions were always to  _ your  _ benefit and in  _ your  _ name. You cannot deny it!"

“She's right!” said the bearded lord in blue. "Howe was your right-hand man and he wasn't shy when bragging about it. Any one of us who's been in the same room as that snake can tell ye that." He shook his head in disapproval. "Still, even without bringing Howe's own crimes into this Landsmeet, the fact that you chose to sell the elves into slavery is atrocious all on its own. Unforgivable!"

“This is why I stand here now and not you!" Loghain shot back, armored hands closed into fists. “None of you have what it takes to make the hard decisions! Instead, you would point the blame and complain while others do the dirty work for you! And unlike any of you, I would do anything for Ferelden!” His smoldering glare went around the room, his voice rising over theirs. "Who was it that fought for you when the Orlesians trampled your fields and raped your wives! Who freed this nation as the blood and sweat of my soldiers soaked the battlefield! None of you have the right to judge me! I gave up more for this nation than any of you ever would!”

"I stand with Loghain in this!" Bann Loren slammed his fist onto the rail, speaking for the first time. He was an older fellow with a thick white beard, clad in an olive green tunic that was too tight around his fat belly. "We have known the general since the war. What do we know of this boy aside from the loins he came from? He hasn't even said a word yet!”

Alistair glanced towards Eamon, who nodded at him. Then he took a step, trying to keep his voice steady as he addressed the bann. "I haven't spoken because I don't feel I need to, ser. I don't need to prove my loyalty or my ability to lead when Loghain has betrayed both.”

The nobles exchanged looks, while the bann only snickered. "Loghain has been a leader since before you were born. And regardless of your claims about what happened in Ostagar, you've very little proof to make us question his loyalty, lad.”

“If he's so loyal to Ferelden then why did he hold our queen captive?” 

Loghain’s wide blue eyes shot to Everil as yet another of her accusations triggered gasps from those around them. 

The regent searched around the room, his heart racing upon seeing the judging expressions. His voice cut through their whispers, his anger again fully directed at the Grey Warden. “You dare spew such lies!”

“They are not lies.” 

A soft voice silenced every whisper as all eyes went to the back of the chamber. Anora stood by the flowing curtains that led into the rest of the palace, her expression calm and collected. Seeing everyone’s attention was now on her, she sauntered forward.

Stunned into silence, all color drained from Loghain’s face as he watched her descend the steps towards them. 

“The Warden speaks the truth,” she continued, regarding the nobles standing around her as she stopped before them. "My father had me captured in order to keep me from meddling in his affairs. He is no longer the man you once knew."

“Anora…” Loghain's eyes softened. “I was only trying to protect you.”

“I did not need protection, Father… I’m not a little girl anymore and you must also see that times have changed. We are no longer in that dreadful world you lived in. But we will lose much of who we are now if you continue on this path,” she responded with a warm smile and then turned back to the others listening to her speak. “What you heard here today has shown you that my father no longer has what is necessary to lead. As queen, I support the decision to crown Prince Alistair the new king.”

The teyrn could only stand in consternation, unable to comprehend why his daughter was speaking against him when he’d been sheltering her the best he could.

_ That was the voice we needed…  _ Everil thought with mixed feelings while watching the duplicitous queen with folded arms.

The noble debated amongst themselves. 

“Queen Anora thinks the prince is suited?”

“Then perhaps he is.”

“I believe we have heard enough of these atrocities.” Arl Eamon raised a hand, calling their attention as he stepped forth. “It is time for you to choose. Who shall take the throne and lead Ferelden through these desperate times? Shall it be the man with questionable judgment or the rightful heir to the throne?”

"Before you choose, please allow me to speak one last time." Everil’s assertiveness pulled the chamber back to her as she moved around it. “Most of you knew my parents, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. My father was an honorable man who believed that the value in a person's character could only be measured based on their actions. And my mother was a strong woman who believed that strength comes not from physical prowess, but from the heart. I too believe these things, so I do not speak lightly when I say that Alistair is the king our country needs.”

Her even steps continued as she turned to others in the crowd. “Some of you may have already heard this from Arl Eamon during your meetings with him. But as a man raised amongst both the nobility and the common folk, Alistair understands our struggles because he has lived them. As a Templar and a Grey Warden, he has placed others before himself and fought against monsters and men to preserve the lives of everyone in Ferelden."

Alistair's restless eyes followed her, but the nerves seemed to lessen as he listened to her speak of him to these perfect strangers, with confidence and pride no one else had shown him before. 

"I know all of this because I have fought alongside him and I trust him." Everil then met his stare and smirked a little, surprising him. “Should you choose him, you will learn to trust him too." 

In a heartbeat, Alfstanna raised her hand. “The prince should be our new king! Loghain is no longer trustworthy!”

"I vote for the prince!" Bann Sighard called out after her.

Bann Loren raised a hand. "I vote for Loghain!”

Another raised his hand, an old lord with graying hair. "I vote for Teyrn Loghain. Only he can lead us to victory in this war!”

"I vote for the prince!" said the bearded noble in blue. 

The voting continued as Alistair nervously followed their voices. They had plenty of evidence to prove the teyrn's transgressions, but it was clear he still held the support of some in the nobility. He glanced over towards Everil, who was calmly awaiting the announcement of their decision, arms folded over her chest.  _ How does she do it? _

Eventually, the votes stopped, the chamber falling quiet once more. The castle clerk walked the results to Eamon, but the decision was already clear. The arl raised the scroll, then announced in a booming voice, “It has been decided. Prince Alistair is henceforth king of all of Ferelden!” 

“Damn them all…” Loghain breathed.

“All right!” Oghren’s voice echoed from their party’s position by the doors, disrupting the silence. Wynne shushed him, earning a quiet apology from the drunken dwarf.

The arl lowered the scroll, his expression remaining solemn despite their victory before he regarded their new king. "Have you a few words before we continue, your Majesty?”

**** _ Well, that’s going to take some getting used to... _ Alistair thought, still struck with a bit of disbelief that they chose him over a man who had once held the respect and admiration of thousands. 

“Yes…” He cleared his throat, doing his best to hide the nerves while standing as regally as he could. "I humbly accept the crown and shall carry the weight of its burdens upon my brow, as my brother and father did before me. I swear to you that I shall rule Ferelden with a firm, yet fair hand and that I shall lead you to victory against the Blight and anyone who dares threaten our lands, our people, and our freedom as a nation. This... is my oath.”

A number of claps came as the nobles smiled upon him, welcoming him into the fold. While Loghain glowered coldly from the sidelines.

“Well said, sire," Eamon nodded, then proceeded, clasping the rolled-up scroll behind his back. "He shan't rule alone, however. Our new king will require the company of someone with experience until he has become accustomed to his new responsibilities. Therefore, I propose he marry a woman of noble birth who has the knowledge necessary to guide him through Ferelden's recovery once the Blight has been dealt with."

"Then we should arrange a marriage between him and I," Anora promptly offered, a prideful smile over her rosy lips. “I am already queen so I would be fully capable of providing him with my council.”

Everil swallowed the knot that formed in her throat, gazing at the queen as her heart twisted painfully with both sadness and dread. This would be it. The time where everyone would agree to the logical proposal and bring the Landsmeet to a close. Where he would go to be with the woman who betrayed them before to keep her crown.

She bit her lip and gazed to the floor, hands curling into quivering fists. It was taking everything in her power not to protest. To not yell at everyone that he was hers and hers alone. But there was not a damn thing she could do to stop them without ending up dragged out of the chamber in chains.

Bann Sighrid spoke next. “I agree that such an arrangement would place him in the best position to rule.”

Others also chimed in.

"Yes, I believe that to be best.”

"So do I."

"Then we are of common thought." Eamon dipped his head in agreement, then turned his eyes to Alistair. “What say you, my liege? Do you agree to these terms?”

Anora frowned in puzzlement at the unexpected question. She had expected Eamon would decide for him in her favor, not that he would grant him the option to choose. She clasped her hands together, gazing at their new king, expectantly waiting for an answer. If he knew what was right for him and for Ferelden, he would choose marriage to her. 

Pausing for a moment, Alistair gave the Warden a brief look, seeing she was stiffly avoiding both them and the conversation. He then regarded the arl and the others, his voice firm. “I agree. But Anora won’t be the one.”

Everil’s head snapped towards him, astonished. 

The queen’s expression mirrored hers for only a moment, then her eyes darkened. “What…?”

Alistair continued, ignoring her. “There's someone else I believe would be better suited. Someone whom I trust with my life and who has just shown all of you she has what it takes to be both my queen and the general of my armies.” He gazed at the woman in question, then held a hand out to her. "That someone is Highever's new Teyrna, Lady Everil Cousland."

"Alistair…" Everil breathed in astonishment, placing a shaking hand in his. 

Some of the nobles in the room gasped, while others stared on with surprised expressions. 

"What do you say, my lady?" he asked her, just loud enough for all to hear as he stepped closer to her. "Will you marry me?"

Suddenly one could hear a pin drop, the silence heavy over them.

“I…" Everil blinked as if in a daze and then an overwhelming sense of happiness came rushing over her. She drew in a quivering breath, fighting back tears as a weak smile spread over her lips. "Yes... Yes, I will marry you, your Majesty.”

Alistair returned her smile with one of his own, his hand coming to gently stroke her cheek.

“This is unacceptable, Arl Eamon!" Anora interjected angrily, her eyes narrowing as the couple turned their attention to her. “The Couslands do not currently hold a position of power, not since Howe took control of their lands.”

“That is no longer accurate, my lady,” Eamon countered respectfully, hands still clasped at his back. “It has recently come to my attention that Howe was killed by the young Cousland in a duel. As the sole survivor of the Cousland family, former owners of Highever, she has a claim over those lands. It would only take the king's word for her to gain the title of teyrna and he has just given it.”

"That’s..." Anora found herself temporarily at a loss for words, her exasperated stare shifting around the room. She took in a breath, struggling to regain her composure. “Regardless, choosing her over me would be foolish, given the country’s current state of affairs. I still am the best option, due to both my position and expertise.”

“No, you are wrong in this.” Eamon smiled a little as he shook his head. “Teyrn Bryce Cousland provided her with the skills and education we need, while her quest against the Blight has brought her a level of humility many of us lack. Her selflessness and willingness to make sacrifices for the people of Ferelden would make her an excellent queen. Unlike you, who would sacrifice the lives of our prince and his friends to keep control of the throne.”

Some nobles whispered amongst themselves, sending her wary glances.

Anora pressed her lips into a thin line, blue eyes turning to slits at the arl. There was nothing she could say or do to counter his words. They had defeated her at her own game.

“Enough of this foolishness! I will never accept you as my king, boy.” Loghain’s voice cut through the tension as he reached for his blade. “I will not allow my beloved nation to fall into your incompetent hands. Especially now that you have dethroned my daughter—the only one I deemed capable of keeping Ferelden from falling into disarray under your rule.”

Eamon regarded the man with dismay. “It's over Loghain. The Landsmeet has already decided and there is nothing you can do to overturn the decision. Stand down.”

"I refuse,” the teyrn retorted curtly, his glare shifting towards Alistair. “The Landsmeet may have chosen poorly, but I yet have one way to stop this madness… A duel to the death.”

“What?” Anora interjected with deep concern. "But Father—”

“Quiet now, my dear,” he gently commanded. "This is something I must do. And if he is truly an honorable man worthy of respect and wishes to keep the crown, then he will accept my challenge."

Bann Alfstanna scowled in irritation. "I hate to admit it… but he is correct. He was regent, and as such he can yet challenge him to keep his position, even going against our decision."

Arl Eamon sighed. "This… is true."

"A duel, huh…?" Alistair uttered cooly, releasing Everil's hand to grip his sword's hilt as he took a step to him. “You know, I find it interesting to hear you question my honor when you were the one who betrayed us and left our fellow Grey Wardens to die at Ostagar. And then, because killing all but two of us just wasn’t good enough for you, you sent men to hunt us down like animals and spread lies about us—just to keep us quiet about what happened." Hatred tainted his voice as he slowly drew his blade, then aimed it at him. “You deserve nothing short of death for all of it. So yes… I gladly accept your challenge.”

“Then it sounds like we have an agreement..." Loghain drew his sword, unfazed. “Let us test the mettle of King Maric's bastard son.”

“Alistair..." Everil gently held him back by the arm, brow furrowing in trepidation.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her as he eased away from her grasp, his focus still upon their enemy.

Her hand slowly fell to her side, fear still gripping her chest as she watched him take a few steady steps towards the teyrn. Loghain was a veteran warrior, much more skilled in battle than he. One slip and he could die.

They circled each other like two bolstering lions ready to pounce, eyes set on the other’s movements as those in the room watched anxiously. Anora’s hand went up to her chest, her features riddled with concern. She had seen Alistair fight and easily defeat her father's best soldier, and although Loghain had experience, he was also much older.

Loghain moved in first, armor clanking loudly as he closed the distance and swung with a mighty cry. Alistair blocked once, twice, three times. He grunted with the hits as Loghain advanced on him with ease, the sound of their clashing blades echoing like claps of thunder throughout the wide chamber.

Alistair gripped his sword with both hands and went for a downward strike, locking blades with him just as he brought his down. Sparks flew as Loghain shoved his weapon away, breaking the temporary stalemate before whirling about and bringing his blade with him. Alistair ducked this time, then backed away as Loghain swung in a diagonal arch, narrowly missing him. 

The Warden readied his blade and stepped forth, pouring all of his strength and momentum into the next swing.

Loghain blocked with gritted teeth as his arms shook. Sharp blue eyes held the young king's hazel browns as Alistair sought to dominate him. But the old general had a better grasp on strategy than he. 

“You will not best me!” He twisted his torso, using Alistair’s weight and strength against him as his weapon screeched over his, causing him to stumble. Then his arm shot out with a closed fist, the steel of his gauntlet connecting with his chin and sending him staggering backward. He sought the opportunity, swinging his sword across.

Dazed and unsteady, Alistair barely had enough time to evade, the tip of the teyrn's blade catching his face and leaving a deep gash along his left cheekbone. He took a step back, trying to make some distance from him as the side of his face burned. 

"Pathetic," Loghain taunted with a derisive scowl. "You may wield Maric's sword, but you are nothing like him!"

Alistair felt something wet dripping along the side of his face, then tasting copper, he spat blood on the ground. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek, but his jaw was no doubt bruising too. He brought a hand up to wipe the red line trickling down his chin, anger quickly turning into subdued rage at the man’s words.

"Shut up…" he hissed scornfully, then gripped his weapon once more. The Warden charged again and their weapons connected with another resounding clap. Then again and again as they swung at each other in a flurry of slashes and strikes, their cries echoing in the room as the nobles watched the fight closely. 

Suddenly Loghain took hold of Alistair's sword with his armored hand, immobilizing his arm as he lunged towards his gut. Alistair reacted quickly, his free hand grabbing the blade just in time to halt the thrust. With a growl, he moved it aside and kicked the teyrn’s stomach, forcing the air out of him. His fist then struck Loghain across the face so hard he fell on one knee. Without pause, Alistair punched him again, sending blood spraying over the carpet. He took advantage of the older man’s shaken state and swung his sword downwards, but the teyrn blocked with one plated arm, gritting his teeth.

Alistair withdrew, avoiding a sideward slash as the teyrn rose to his feet.

Loghain ignored the blood running down the side of his swollen eye and mouth while continuing his assault, forcing him to block and dodge another stream of attacks. He then whirled on one foot, leading with all the weight of his body and parrying Alistair's blade, creating an opening. Loghain’s fist then connected with his stomach, and as he hunched over in pain, he struck him again.

Alistair bit out a curse as he stumbled back and then regained his footing. He blinked away the colors swimming in his vision, head pounding where he’d hit him. He angrily shook his head and dropped back into his battle stance, panting for breath as sweat slid down his brow.

Loghain licked the red from his lips, standing proudly once more as he beckoned him with one hand. “Come...”

Alistair charged, cloak flowing behind him and armor chiming loudly, the noise drowned out by his roar as he brought his blade upon him with all his might. 

Loghain struck at it, deflecting it before kicking at his feet. 

With a huff, Alistair fell on his back, then his eyes widened just before he rolled, barely avoiding his sword as it stabbed the floor where he’d laid. He quickly pushed himself onto his feet and blocked another hit, then another, as Loghain continued his onslaught. 

It seemed they were on even ground, both predicting each other’s moves in seconds and without pause. But Loghain soon let him swing downward, dodging his attack as he brought his sword across and towards his now exposed side. Alistair reacted faster than him, grabbing his wrist and stopping him midway.

Loghain’s eyes went wide.

Then it was as if time itself slowed.

Blinding pain erupted from his left flank as Alistair plunged his weapon into him, the blade piercing through him as he bit back a cry. The sword cut all the way, blood splattering behind him as he weakly gripped at the hilt. Both men stared at each other for a dragging second, bloodied and heaving.

Gasping in horror, Anora watched as Loghain crumbled to his knees. And Alistair yanked his sword out of him, more red dripping out of her father in its wake. “Father...” She gripped her skirts, trying her best to keep calm as her chest ached for him. 

A stunned Loghain swallowed, unable to comprehend what happened. Slowly, he gazed around the Landsmeet chamber at the people around him. He’d known them all. Had fought for them all. And now he was standing trial for all the choices he’d made in a desperate bid to keep his nation safe. For letting his late best friend’s son die along with his men—however justified he’d believed himself to be. For attempting to cleanse the nobility off of those he’d deemed disloyal and seen as a threat. For unleashing a civil war while the darkspawn mercilessly ravished the lands and killed the very innocents he meant to protect.

A hard realization hit him as if it were a fist of granite and stone. 

In making those decisions, he had become the same kind of man from which he’d been trying to protect his country.

Alistair stood over him. “Ready to die?”

“If that is to be my fate… Then I deserve it...” he admitted weakly, a hand coming to press against his bleeding wound. His cold exterior seemed to melt, giving way to acceptance as he found himself resigned to his defeat. “I must atone for all I have done.”

“No…” Anora’s eyes turned to Alistair, who took a step towards her father. “Alistair, do not do this. My father was only trying to do what he thought was best for Ferelden!”

“By killing the Grey Wardens and using people's lives to get his way?” Alistair retorted, aiming his blade at him. “Everyone thinks they know better when they do horrible things. But two wrongs don’t make a right!”

“Then take my father into the Grey Wardens!” She shifted to Everil this time. “Let him redeem himself. Is there not a chance that he will die regardless? Think about it. If he survives your joining then you earn a powerful general. And if he perishes, then he pays for his crimes either way. He could yet—”

“Not a chance!” Alistair answered before Everil could respond, scornful eyes upon the one who left them all to die. “He doesn't deserve that honor.” 

“Enough, Anora..." Loghain uttered, his breathing growing more elaborate as he bled out. “This is how it must end. You know this too.”

“I…” His daughter swallowed bitter tears, eyes downcast. “Very well…"

He gazed up at Alistair with a resolute expression, a hint of a smile tugging at a corner of his lips. “You fought well... Your father would have been proud. Now, it remains to be seen if you will become the king Ferelden's people deserve.”

“Don’t worry…” With a firm grip, Alistair raised his blade. “I may not know everything there is to know about ruling a country, but I swear this much... I will do my damndest to keep them safe from tyrants like you."

“There it is…” Loghain's smile broadened, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Now… Now you sound just like Maric.”

Anora ran to him just as Alistair’s sword came down, her father’s blood spraying over her as his head dropped upon the floor with a sickening thud. It rolled over the carpet, leaving a crimson trail behind as the rest of him fell on its side, more red gushing from the stump that was once Loghain's neck.

She dropped on her knees beside him, shaking hands hovering over the corpse while struggling to keep the tears from pouring out of her eyes. There was only silence around them now, as the lords and ladies cast saddened expressions upon their former queen and the one who had once been the Hero of River Dane. 

Alistair solemnly sheathed his sword before the traitor's remains, then spun to head back towards the arl and his fellow Warden. His steps were steady, the slight slump on his shoulders the only sign of how worn out he truly felt. 

“Well done..." Eamon told him with a firm nod, then turned to the nobles, his resonant voice once again overtaking the chamber. "With Loghain defeated, there is no further opposition to Alistair's rule. The throne will remain in the Theirin bloodline, as it should. And without marriage to the king, Queen Anora must relinquish the crown, along with all the riches bestowed upon her during her rule. Neither she nor her children shall bear rights to the throne and they will be unable to stake a claim in it henceforth.”

A group of guards headed for the former queen. They stopped behind her, hovering over her like vultures. She scowled over her shoulder at them, hands still resting over her father’s cooling body. Frigid fingers wrapped around her delicate arm while Anora rose to her feet. She stood tall, dignified despite the blood staining her lavish dress while regarding those in the room without a single tear.

“What should we do with her, your Majesty?” one of the men asked their new king.

Alistair's brow furrowed as his attention went to Anora and he couldn't help but pity her. He’d just executed her father before her very eyes. An act that would remain in her memory for as long as she lived, just as Duncan’s death was in his. Sympathy, however, could easily be misplaced in his position. 

His brain went over every scenario. He could set her free and let her mourn her father’s death. Perhaps even marry her off to a nobleman and let her live the rest of her life in comfort. But there was the possibility that she could try to take revenge over what happened. And someone like her had the connections and the reputation to do it. He couldn’t risk it.

“Put her in the dungeon,” he commanded without remorse. “If I die in our battle against the Blight, then she can have her crown back. Otherwise, we'll see...”

Anora said nothing and instead held her head up high. She allowed the guards to take her, walking regally despite being forced to leave her father’s corpse behind.

A hand on his arm made Alistair crane his head down to Eamon. “You should rally the nobles now, my liege.” 

“Right," he replied with a nod.

He stepped forth with all the poise he could muster. “Everyone. I came not only to unify our country but to seek your help against an enemy that threatens us all. The archdemon and its Blight head towards us, destroying everything in their wake. We must do something to stop it or Ferelden will be lost.”

“What do you need us to do, your Majesty?” Eamon questioned, urging him on.

“Everil and I have already gathered the aid of the elves, dwarves, and mages. But we still need yours," Alistair replied, his hardened voice resounding through the room. “I need your soldiers, your resources, anything you can spare to help us win this war.”

“The darkspawn are relentless,” asked one of the minor lords, doubt creasing his brow. “Are you sure we can defeat them, sire?”

“I won’t lie to you. Battling the darkspawn horde and reaching the archdemon will be a grueling task. But I say do not fear it!” His sure stare then shifted around, arms opening to them as he spoke. “For Ferelden's history of past Blights has shown us we can conquer them by facing them together! All of us as one!”

“What say you?” Everil called out to them, walking to stand beside him as she raised her eyes to them. “Will you stand with us to vanquish evil from your lands!”

“I say we join the king and the Grey Warden against the Blight!” Bann Sighard shouted, lifting a fist.

“Agreed!” Bann Alfstanna raised her voice, also pumping her fist into the air. “Let’s send those monsters back to the depths where they belong!”

Most of the chamber erupted into shouts of cheers and support as they united against a common enemy after months of a brutal civil war. Once again they had a king to follow, one to whom they'd sworn their fealty without fear. And as the cheers grew louder around him, Alistair smiled through the wounds left upon his features. 

Now, winning the war was all they had left to do.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After leaving the chamber, Everil gathered her party in an adjacent room—a sitting area, with books and a few chairs—while Alistair and Arl Eamon remained to discuss how to proceed with the gathering of soldiers and resources. Things had turned out far better than she'd expected, which was odd considering their horrid luck throughout their journey. 

Yet, their victory felt short-lived, considering they were soon about to face the Blight head-on.

“By the Maker… This reminded me very much of Orlesian politics. Though with fewer dresses, masks, and dance." Leliana chuckled a little at Everil. "And the killing usually happens behind the scenes."

Oghren let out a gruff laugh, standing by the nun with arms folded “I’ll say... Who knew pretty boy had it in him?”

“I am glad everything turned out well. I was worried about you two," Wynne told her with a gentle smile. "And I suppose it would be appropriate to congratulate you on your engagement."

"Thank you…" Everil answered with a dip of her head, unable to keep the smile from her face.

Zevran snickered. "That Alistair sure is full of surprises. A crown and a woman, all in one day. Lucky bastard… literally."

Leliana giggled.

“What matters is that we have obtained what we needed to battle the Blight," Everil told them, bringing the conversation back to their original mission. "We should be heading out soon, so we need to prepare."

“It took long enough,” Morrigan scoffed. "The horde has probably consumed half of Ferelden by now. At the very least it appears we have a capable army, though the one leading it may not be so."

"Oh, Morrigan," Alistair interjected with a sarcastic smile as he stepped into the room. "And here I did all of that uncomfortable talking to try and win you over."

She lifted her nose at him. “'Tis all talk. Perhaps action will sway me. But then again, perhaps not."

Everil turned to him as he took a seat nearby. "Are we ready to leave?"

"No, Eamon and the rest are still strategizing." Alistair let out a breath and leaned forward on his elbows before rubbing the back of his neck. "I gotta say, I'm glad he told me I could step away. I don't think I have it in me to give another one of those fancy speeches right now."

"You did well." She stepped closer to him and placed a hand under his chin to inspect the bruises. "Are you all right?"

He smiled a little through the pain on his face. "Yeah… I'm… pleased that I could finally avenge Duncan and the others. Though it doesn't feel as great as I thought it would. It doesn't take away the fact that he's gone."

"I know..."

"You defeated the Hero of River Dane because it was necessary," Wynne told him as she approached the pair, holding a clean rag and bladder of wine in her hands. "But revenge does not take away the pain nor the anger. It only reminds you of it." 

Everil moved aside, letting the mage work on treating him.

"You know, Wynne…" Alistair had a sad grin on his lips as she wiped the blood. "I could have used some of that wisdom growing up. It definitely would've kept me from making some of my more questionable decisions."

The old woman let out a light chuckle. "Oh, I am certain you would have found a way to get yourself into trouble regardless."

"Heh… Yeah, you're probably right."

Her hands glowed as she closed his scratches and the gash on his cheek, the bruising slowly ebbing away. Once she finished there was some faint discoloration left on his injuries, but her attention went to the small scar tracing along his cheekbone. "It seems he has left you with a mark," she said as she ran two fingers over it. "I cannot heal this..."

Alistair only smiled. "It's fine… Thank you."

Taking a deep breath, he sat up and glanced towards Everil. "Well… Now that that's over with…" He stood, stepping towards her and placing a hand at the small of her back before addressing the group. “Would you guys give us a moment? I need to talk to Everil alone.”

“Of course. We will be waiting in the hall,” Wynne replied, motioning for the others to follow. “Come, all of you."

“Just make sure you don’t get caught doing it…” Oghren teased them with a smirk as he passed them by. Leliana shook her head at the dwarf while Morrigan rolled her eyes. And then the door was closed behind them, leaving the two Wardens in the quiet room.

Everil gazed up at him as he stepped up to stand before her. His hands came to rest on her arms. “I'm sorry I left like that this morning… I… I had little choice."

“No harm done… You more than made up for it," she quietly replied, offering him a gentle smile. “So how did you pull this off? I… I didn't think things would happen the way they did.”

“I had a long conversation with Arl Eamon." He released a soft sigh, hands sliding down to hold hers. "I told him what happened at Howe’s estate. That Anora tried to get us killed. That you defeated Howe… everything.” He then reached up to cup her cheek. “I stood up to him and told him I wouldn't marry the queen because you were the one I loved. And… he understood. Turns out all I had to do was be honest with him.”

“I see…" She frowned quizzically, tilting her head. “But… Why not just tell me about your plan before leaving my room? I could have helped.”

“Anora just seemed to be someone who would have ears everywhere, even at Arl Eamon's estate. I couldn't risk her finding out. If she did, she would have turned against us at the Landsmeet… which would have been pretty bad.”

“So that's why you and Arl Eamon left so early… So you could speak to him away from her prying ears.” 

He nodded. “That’s right. I wanted her to still think things were going her way. To keep her vote in our favor until I was chosen king.”

“Huh…” She blinked and then smirked proudly at him. "Smart move.”

“I know, right?” He grinned playfully. “Some of your cunning must have rubbed off on me.”

Everil laughed lightly. “Yes. So it seems.”

There was a slight pause then as the two of them smiled at each other, welcoming the quiet for just a moment.

“Hey..." He tenderly brushed her bangs from her eyes. “I have something for you.”

She saw Alistair take her left hand and watched curiously as he began to pull off her glove. Her puzzled eyes went up to him as he hung her glove between his teeth, and still holding her hand with one of his, reached into his pack. He produced a delicate, golden band, carefully pinched between his armored fingers. A single, small diamond shone over it, glimmering against the light coming from the nearby window.

Everil's heart skipped as he carefully slid the ring onto her slender finger, her breath caught in her throat. 

“There…” The glove muffled his voice before he removed it from his teeth and smiled at her. “That makes it official.”

“Alistair…” she whispered, admiring it as it set upon her hand, sparkling almost magically. She'd been surrounded by riches since birth, and yet this one… This one ring felt so much more precious than any jewel she'd ever owned. Tears welled up in her eyes and she stifled a sob, her happiness almost overwhelming

“What's wrong?” He cupped her cheek with a hint of alarm. “Is it too small? Maybe I—”

Everil threw her arms around his neck, surprising him and nearly knocking him to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her in return. 

“It's perfect…" she breathed, closing her eyes as she basked in this moment with him. After so much suffering and pain they'd endured. After so much death and misery they'd seen. She could finally say her bruised heart was filled with nothing but joy.

Her feet barely touched the ground as he held her tightly against him, smiling. He gently nuzzled her hair, whispering into her ear. “I love you, Everil.”

“I love you too…” she whispered, grabbing fistfuls of his cloak while burying her face in his neck. 


	16. A Grey Warden's Secrets

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ E _ _ veril's horse galloped over the  _ dirt, crossing the Imperial Highway with their companions and what remained of the royal forces as the sun began to set. Alistair headed the army, still clad in the same armor from the Landsmeet, with her riding at his right and Eamon at his left. They were returning to Redcliffe, where they planned to gather their forces and draft their strategy before facing the Blight. They’d already arranged for the nobles to send their soldiers. While Everil had also sent ravens with her summons to the elves, dwarves, and mages. 

Red lighting lit up the skies over the woods, flashing their surroundings with their ominous light. They trekked over ground freckled with blackened patches as the taint spread, leaving its mark upon the land. Behind them, the soldiers marched over the withering soil, keeping their attention on those leading them despite their urge to look at the corruption around them.

The road eventually took them over a hill as they emerged from the thicket of tainted trees to see Redcliffe in the distance. Alistair quickly raised a fist, halting everyone as he stopped his own horse, while familiar wicked voices whispered in his mind. His jaw clenched as he watched the smoke rise from the burning huts and heard the distant cries of the villagers. “They're here,” he said as Everil rode up next to him.

She narrowed her eyes. “And they came in greater numbers...”

Eamon’s brow tensed as his steed neighed, sensing the evil ahead. “We must do something or my village will fall.” 

“We'll drive them out,” she said steadfastly and regarded Alistair. “I'll take our party and your knights, then head in. The rest of the men can wait here with you in case more of the darkspawn try to enter the village from our rear or attempt to escape towards the woods.”

Alistair nodded. “All right. Just be careful.”

“Always,” she said with a smile, then pulled on the reins of her mount. 

“Knights!” called the new general as her horse pranced before their party and the troops behind them. 

The soldiers looked to her, awaiting orders.

“There are darkspawn in Redcliffe! Which means you are about to face the evil that has taken over our lands!” She drew her blade, her commanding voice reaching even the last soldier at the rear. “The knights will come with me to bring the battle to them! The rest of you will remain to protect our king and engage any foes that flee the village in our wake! Do not give in to fear! Do not waver! For they bleed and die just as we do!”

She rode her horse towards the center of the line of troops. “This is your first test! And if you have what it takes to take on the horde, then you  _ will  _ defeat them all!” she challenged, raising her sword high to the skies. “Kill every one of them! No fear! No mercy!” 

Every man and woman pulled their weapons from their sheathes, releasing a resounding roar.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The thundering sound of a galloping force approached the fishing town as Everil led the charge with a war cry. Her party rode with her, the knights riding close behind them. They headed straight towards the line of darkspawn blocking the gate to the village, weapons raised as the creatures prepared their blades, axes, and bows. 

The darkspawn archers resealed their arrows first, aiming at the Warden and her friends to halt their advance. Everil ducked as an arrow zoomed over her head, while the others also missed their mark. And then they were on them, their forces clashing against the group of monsters as their weapons met.

Her blade came down, cutting through the first hurlock's neck with a powerful strike as its blood sprayed the dirt. It fell, and then she pulled the reins, swerving to face the next one as it ran at her with its jagged sword. She blocked from her horse, then thrust down, driving her weapon through its skull. 

Sten roared as he brought his blade upon a group of three, riding his steed along as he cut through their armored heads. A surge of magic soon followed as Morrigan cast a gust of ice through several more pouring out from the village, freezing them on the spot. Everil and the knights broke through them, shattering their bodies as they crossed the gates into the town.

Blood once again soaked Redcliffe’s soil as several villagers lay butchered on the streets. Others screamed as they fled, chased by the darkspawn as the monsters broke through doors, turned over barrels and tables from outside shops, and burned everything in their wake. The arl’s soldiers were locked in battle with the creatures, doing their best to defend the innocents while also outnumbered three to one.

One of the arl’s knights, Ser Donal, cut down a genlock, splitting open its head with his sword as its blood splattered his armor. He swallowed, dirty and weary from the fighting. Then he turned to a group of hurlocks heading his way. 

“Curses…” he breathed out as he readied his weapon once more. But the creatures never made it to him. They instead turned their permanent grins towards the road leading to the gates as a group of heavily armored knights entered the village, headed by the same woman who’d saved their lives once before.

“The Grey Warden’s here!” he called to the men fighting nearby.

Several darkspawn charged at the approaching fighters, roaring viciously as they prepared their attacks.

Everil quickly hopped off her saddle, then parried a hurlock’s blade away before stabbing through it. A grunt escaped her as she ducked from another’s sword, only to slash at its chest before drawing her dagger and throwing it into the next one’s skull. Then she pivoted on one foot, swinging with both hands to lop off a genlock's head.

Around her, her party also dismounted as they and the king’s men engaged the rest of their enemies, advancing further into the gore-covered streets.

Ser Donal raised his sword. “Let’s help the Grey Warden!”

His men shouted in response, running towards where their foe now battled the new arrivals.

Zevran smirked as he avoided a genlock’s axe, then brought his leg down to kick it off its feet before plunging his dagger into its chest. Then he struck up as he rose, his blade cutting a hurlock's throat. Another was about to stab him from behind when Leliana ran up from the side, burying her dagger into it. Then they both pressed their backs together as a handful of enemies emerged from the huts near them, trying to flank them.

“Ah… How adorable of them. I say we teach them a lesson,” he said as the darkspawn slowly encroached them. “What say you, my dear?” 

Leliana smiled over her shoulder. “I’m with you.”

The darkspawn roared as they ran at them, closing the distance. Leliana ducked, then kicked one's stomach before her dagger met its brow. She kicked another's sword arm aside, then stabbed it in the neck. Behind her, the elf was crouching to avoid a blade to the head, then he punched the one next to him. He slashed in a criss-cross, blades slashing one’s throat. He whirled around and flung one of the daggers, sending it straight at a genlock’s forehead. 

Both assassin and bard surveyed their work, panting slightly as the corpses bled around them.

They heard the screeches of multiple creatures over the battlefield as Shale and Sten pummeled through a large group of darkspawn that dared challenge them. Limbs flew as Sten cut them down with his greatsword. And bits of flesh and armor rained over the dirt as Shale punched through several more.

“Yer arses are mine!” Oghren shouted as his axe found a genlock’s torso, then swung in an arch, chopping off a hurlock’s leg. He ran up to another group, heavy ax severing limbs as the dwarf laughed wickedly at their demise.

A great roar then broke through the darkspawn's cries, drawing Everil’s attention away from the hurlock she’d just killed. Loud stomping soon followed, fast and heavy, before something burst through one of the wooden huts, sending splinters and debris flying like an explosion. An ogre charged towards the Grey Warden, horns down and ready to ram her. She clicked her tongue and quickly rolled, narrowly avoiding it. It slammed its head against the hut by which she’d been standing, demolishing it. Everil took a few steps back, gaze still set on it as it rose from the ruined building and shook the splinters off its head.

She scowled at it.  _ Great… _

It swung a fist at her, and she ducked, its massive steps shaking the ground. Then it punched downward, trying to squash her. Everil rolled out of the way, the hit sending rock and dirt flying as it left a hole where she’d stood.

The surrounding men hesitated, unsure of how to fight it as it again advanced towards her. 

Suddenly ice covered the soil over which it walked, crawling up its legs and slowing down its movements. Everil looked toward Morrigan, who had her catlike glare into slits as she put all of her focus into the spell. The rest of her party faced the creature from all sides, keeping their distance, but awaiting her command.

“Attack its legs!” she cried out. “Watch for its arms!”

And they did. Sten and Shale went for the knees, while Leliana and Zevran slashed at its thighs, chipping away at the ice as it roared in pain. It swung once, trying to take out Shale as the golem punched at its leg. It lost balance and fell on one knee.

And Everil was running, sword ready as she released a roar of her own. She leaped on its knee, then stabbed her dagger into its chest before she buried her sword into its throat, the ogre howled in pain as its blood poured over her. It fell backward with her still on top of it, crimson gushing out of its wounds as it pooled beneath its massive body. 

The Grey Warden plucked her blades from it and rose to her feet, surveying the battlefield from her perch above the ogre’s corpse. She tried to sense more darkspawn, but could no longer hear the voices in her head. All the enemies they could see were downed, oozing their tainted fluids onto the soil.

The king’s men watched their general in awe, while the arl’s soldiers did the same, waiting expectantly for her to speak. 

“We have won!” Everil declared, raising her blade once more. “Redcliffe is ours again!”

Cheers erupted from the bloodied men around her, their weapons pointed to the skies.

Everil smiled at them from where she stood, lowering her weapon. This had been but one battle. Now it remained to be seen if they could win the war.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The darkspawn attack largely spared Redcliffe castle, but they nearly destroyed the village. Most of the survivors sheltered themselves in the chantry, but many others perished. The arl’s men quickly attempted to put out the fires, while Wynne and Leliana helped tend to the wounded. The rest of the party helped burn the dead monsters, piling them up at the center of the village square as the flames consumed them. 

Yet despite having defeated them, Everil knew they wouldn’t stay gone for long. The urgency in Arl Eamon’s request to meet with her the moment they entered the castle told her he knew this too.

Riordan and Alistair stood with her in the arl’s study, where they were to plan their strategy. Bann Teagan helped spread a map over the desk, while Eamon brought out a small chest with markers stored inside. 

“By what our scouts reported, the bulk of the horde is still crossing the fields to Denerim,” Eamon began, placing a mark on the map. “This is where they were last spotted.” 

“That far in…” Alistair uttered with a troubled brow, folding his arms.

“They move slowly…” Everil shook her head with a sigh. “But by the time our forces get here and we reach Denerim, they would have already invaded.”

“That means our strategy will have to involve fighting inside the city,” Alistair said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn it... We have to get there as soon as we can. I won't let all those people die without giving them a fighting chance.”

“Hmm…” Teagan brought a hand to his chin. “The city may serve as a good place to fight. We can use the layout to funnel their numbers. But there will be a lot of damage to repair afterward.”

“We can worry about that after the archdemon lies dead," Riordan told him somberly.

Eamon pulled out a map of Denerim from his shelf, unrolling it next to the other. 

He placed a finger on the battlements. “When we attack they will have the advantage. They have the city’s fortifications to protect them, as well as higher ground for their archers. That means we will have to break through their defenses.”

“We can mount a full-frontal assault on the front gates.” Everil leaned forward to rest her hands on top of the desk. She took a marker from the arl’s chest, then set it atop the entrance. “We will lose men in the process, but we need to conquer that part of the city so we may use it to deploy soldiers further in.”

“I agree…” Eamon said with a nod.

“After that, I suggest we focus our efforts on the Archdemon,” she continued, gazing at everyone in the room. “No matter how many darkspawn we kill, they will use their numbers to overpower us. Defeating the Archdemon will cause them to retreat. So if we want to save as many soldiers as we can, that would have to be our strategy.”

“Then we have to reach the dragon as quickly as possible,” Alistair agreed from beside her. 

“It will look for the highest point and set its perch there to oversee the horde,” Riordan offered.

“The highest point is Fort Drakon.” Eamon pulled a piece from the chest, then placed it over the tower.

“We Grey Wardens could take a group of people with us and infiltrate the tower,” Everil proposed.

“Hmm…” Eamon ran a hand down his beard. “I see… A smaller group would have an easier time making it to the dragon while it focuses its armies on our forces. It would be dangerous to fight it by yourselves, however.”

“Just leave the Archdemon to us,” Riordan said with a sharp look. “We can handle it.”

Eamon clasped his hands behind his back. “Very well then. I will chart the best route to Fort Drakon and finish preparations. Alistair, meet with me in the morning before we set out.”

“Got it.”

The Grey Wardens then walked out of the study, stepping into the hall. They headed to their chambers, climbing up the stairs to the guest wing. When they reached their rooms, Riordan stopped them. “You two come this way,” he said as he motioned for them to follow. “There’s an important matter I must discuss with you." 

Alistair and Everil exchanged a wary glance and did as he asked.

They entered his room as the senior Warden closed the door, locking them away from prying ears.

“What is it?” Everil asked as they watched him approach.

“I imagine there are a few things Duncan didn't have the opportunity to tell you before he died.” Riordan folded his arms before them. “So I ask you… Do you know why only Grey Wardens can defeat the Archdemon?” 

They exchanged a look once more as if hoping for the other to know.

“No…” Alistair replied with a confused expression. “Duncan never mentioned it.”

“I… figured as much. It's not exactly a subject we like to talk about until the time comes.” He let out a huff, visibly uncomfortable with the subject. “The Archdemon is a monster beyond what you have ever encountered. It is tied to the darkspawn, just as they are tied to it through the taint. If the dragon is defeated, its… soul is capable of transferring to the nearest darkspawn, thus avoiding death.”

“Maker…” Everil’s eyes widened. “If that were to happen then it would be almost impossible to tell which one it has possessed. We could lose sight of it altogether.”

“Yes. Which brings me to my next point…” A troubled expression descended upon him, his voice carrying a hint of unease. “There is a price to pay for killing the Archdemon. Each time a Grey Warden defeats the dragon, its soul seeks the taint in their bodies. Just as it would with darkspawn. However, while those creatures are soulless vessels, we Wardens are not. Our bodies are unable to handle it.”

“Wait…” Alistair breathed, stunned by the revelation. “Does… Does that mean that one of us will have to die to defeat the Blight?”

“That’s right...” 

A deep sense of dread made its way into Everil’s chest, causing her to close her hands into fists. They had known all along there was a possibility that they would die fighting the Blight. But knowing she or the man she loved could end up having to sacrifice themselves made it difficult to accept. She glanced up at Alistair’s profile and gave Riordan a firm stare. "There has to be another way…”

“Unfortunately, there is none.” He sighed, then attempted to smile at her, trying to reassure her. “Have no fear… The senior Grey Warden is always the one who takes down the archdemon, because they have lived the longest. That was Duncan’s intention when he recruited you. With him gone, I am the next in line, so the task passes on to me.” His expression then turned stern as he regarded them both. “That means I don't want either of you to go near the dragon unless... Unless I perish before we reach it. Is that understood?”

“Yes…” they both answered quietly.

“Good.” Riordan’s eyes then softened. "Now... On to yet another uncomfortable, slightly more dreadful piece of knowledge I must give you."

Alistair gave a dry chuckle. "There's more? And here I thought us dying would be the worst possible thing that could happen."

"If only it were so…" The older Warden shook his head sadly. "This is something I wish I could have told you before you assumed the throne, Alistair.” 

"Why?" His eyebrows knitted. "What is it?"

"It's really about the two of you and your future marriage," Riordan quietly elaborated. "If we survive, you two will be expected to bear an heir. Unfortunately, it’s impossible for two Grey Wardens to conceive.”

“What…?” Everil blanched and her heart sank like a rock in a pond. Her mind tried to register his words, repeating them over and over. She was a woman, and thus required to bear children, even more now that she was to wed a king. She cast her eyes upon the floor.

No. The frustration wasn't because of the obligations forced upon her based on her sex. 

She'd wanted to have them. To have them with him.

Sensing her distress, Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly to make her feel better as his own chest constricted painfully. They hadn't spoken about it yet, but he couldn't deny the thought crossed his mind more than once after they'd slept together. And he'd learned now why he hadn't left her with child despite not having exactly tried to avoid it.

He let out a breath. "It's because of the taint… isn't it?"

“Yes…" Riordan answered softly. “Those cursed by it cannot bear children. I am sorry.”

"It's… all right." Everil swallowed, then forced a smile as she slowly gazed back up at him. “Thank you for telling us all this.”

“Of course…" He offered her a warm grin, gently patting her arm. “You two should go rest now. I will see you in the morning. Have a good night.”

"Yes... Good night.” Alistair placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the room with him.

Everil silently let him, dazed and filled with uncertainty. Her feet numbly carried her until they stepped out into the empty hall, Alistair closing the door behind them. 

“Hey…” He took her hand into both of his. “Are you all right, my love?”

“I'm fine...” She released a long, tired breath. 

“You don't sound like it.”

“I'm all right.” She smiled. “Really. Don't worry about me."

“That's impossible…” Alistair stepped closer, still unconvinced. He ever so gently brushed her bangs from her eyes and then cupped her cheek, ignoring the dried blood still clinging to her skin. “Listen… I—”

“King Alistair!” A female call startled the pair as a maid jogged towards them, coming to a stop before them. Two of his royal guards walked after her, standing behind her with grave expressions.

“Yes?” He couldn’t resist the huff that escaped him. Aside from just a few hours of sleep, he and Everil hadn't had a quiet moment alone since they left Denerim weeks ago. And at the moment, they were both going through a difficult situation he wanted to sort out with her.

She bowed deeply to him. “Please forgive my interruption, sire. But I bring a message.”

“Uh… sure. What is it?” Alistair muttered uncomfortably at the amount of reverence. 

He had said hello in passing to this very servant during their last visit to Redcliffe castle and had even joked with the soldiers a few times. Then all it took was for him to wear some fancy armor and for someone to call him king for everyone to treat him differently. The guards didn't dare talk to him without him speaking first. And the servants all bowed to him when he passed while keeping their heads down. It was needless to say he hated it, but it would be something he would have to learn to live with now. He only hoped to be able to get used to it, eventually.

“One of the minor lords arrived unexpectedly with his men,” she said, with urgency in her tone. “He demands to meet you and hear your strategy for the upcoming battle.”

“Eamon is the one planning the strategy, not me. He should probably talk to him instead.”

She gave him an apologetic bow of her head. “Arl Eamon was the one who sent me, your Majesty. He says he is sorry for calling you back to his study so soon, but that it is necessary for you to meet his guest. I was asked to escort you, sire.”

Alistair glanced anxiously towards Everil, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to leave her side. Not right now.

“Go on,” she urged him with a wide grin. “I'll be fine.”

“All right…” he uttered hesitantly, then leaned down to gently kiss her temple. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

The maid led him down the hall, the guards flanking him as they headed towards the stairs. Everil watched him walk away, her smile slowly fading.

"You are a terrible liar.” 

Her head snapped in the voice's direction. Morrigan was watching her intently from her room's doorway, which was a short distance from where she stood.

“What are you talking about?” Everil questioned as she went to her.

“You know exactly what.” The witch unfolded her arms, giving her a hopeless look. “You were told that you would never be able to bear children with him. And you are obviously upset about it. Why not simply tell the fool?”

“I just…” She averted her stare, feeling the sting upon hearing it again. “I don't have time to worry about something like that right now. And neither does he." She then gave her a puzzled glare, lifting a brow. “And how exactly did you find out about this? Were you listening in?”

“I knew all along," Morrigan responded casually. “I also anticipated Riordan would eventually reveal the news to you, considering the grave look he carried ever since we left Denerim.”

“How did you know…? Those are Grey Warden secrets.”

“I know a great many things, girl," Morrigan answered with a subtle smirk. "Such secrets can only be kept for so long and my mother has lived for many centuries. Grey Wardens should consider themselves fortunate she was capable of keeping them to herself—aside from sharing them with me, that is.”

“Oh…”

The witch’s smirk then dissipated, turning into a stern expression. “I also know ‘tis time you reconsider your relationship with Alistair. Better to cut it short than be forced to face the inevitable.”

“What?” Everil shot her a perturbed scowl. “Our inability to have children does not mean that we’ll be unhappy, Morrigan.”

“You forget ‘tis no longer just he and you. Alistair now carries the fate of an entire country upon his shoulders. Sooner or later he will require an heir.”

The Warden’s gaze fell, her brow knitted. She wanted to be angry at her, but common sense kept her from it. Morrigan was speaking the truth and there was nothing she could say to prove her wrong. 

Why did life keep throwing obstacles at them? Was she not meant to stay with him?

Everil let the possibilities flip through her mind like pictures in a book, trying to sort out her thoughts and feelings. But it was all too much, too soon, and she was tired. Tired from all the traveling, all the fighting, and now all the heartache. 

She didn't know what to do. 

Be selfish and stay with him. 

Or be selfless and let him go for good.

Seeing the conflict in her, Morrigan’s features softened, her voice losing its edge. “As your friend, I am giving you my honest opinion. I truly would not like to see you hurt.”

“Thanks...” Everil quietly said, offering her a faltering smile. "Thank you for worrying about me. But I think I'll be all right..." 

The Warden then turned to walk away, whispering a soft good night while heading towards the room she and Alistair were to share.

Morrigan watched her retreating form with a slight look of concern until she disappeared around a corner. A breath left her, now finding herself deeply worried for the woman who saved not only her life but who had also shown her friendship she'd never known.

If only she wouldn't have to reveal to her the truth about herself. If only fate’s games were not so cruel as to force her to ruin what they shared. Morrigan angrily shook her head, scowling at the ground.  _ What a fool you are... _


	17. The Calm Before the Storm

⚜

  
  


_“A_ _coin for your thoughts?”_

Zevran had been leaning over the wooden railing of the castle balcony overseeing Lake Calenhad when he heard the question. He turned his attention to Leliana, who was approaching him with a slight smile. 

“Are you sure you want to know what goes on in my head?” he asked with a teasing grin.

She chuckled, coming to stand beside him while resting her hands on the rail. “On second thought, no. It probably involves a lot of women in compromising positions.”

He wiggled his silver eyebrows at her. “Oh, there's women yes. And there's positions too." 

Leliana shook her head. "You put up an act, but I can tell you're troubled over something. Even Oghren could not convince you to join him for drinks.”

He returned to the lake, smirk wavering. “That _is_ odd, isn’t it?”

“We shall soon be facing the battle of our lives. I think it would do you good to talk about your problems before possibly facing impending doom.”

The elf let out a laugh. “I do enjoy your optimism.”

“The Maker might watch over us during the battle, but I cannot speak with certainty. No one can. Might as well be a realist, no?” 

“Yes…” he sighed, resting his chin on a hand. “Maybe.”

"So. Why are you standing here all by yourself?" she quietly asked, looking out towards the moon reflecting over the waters."What bothers you?"

Zevran paused for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess I'm just thinking about what will become of me after this is over. I doubt I would want to remain under my lady’s service. Castle life just isn’t for me, however glamorous it may sound."

“Knowing her, she will release you after all this is over anyway. And the Crows probably think you dead by now, so they might actually leave you be,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of red hair behind one ear. “Perhaps it is something to look forward to? You will have your freedom back.”

A grin formed over his face at her words, a hint of excitement in his chest. He’d been at someone else’s service for as long as he could remember, even the Crows bought him as a slave when he was a child. It would be the first time he would fight and live for himself instead of someone else. He would be free to roam Thedas as he wished. To go on any adventures he desired without answering to anyone or anything.

“Ah… You have a way with words, sister." He smirked wickedly at her. "I feel better already. Were you really just a traveling bard?” 

“Perhaps.” She giggled, her soft voice soothing to his pointed ears. “Let’s just say I have good listening skills too.”

There was a brief pause as they enjoyed the distant sound of the water flowing against the rocks below. The glimmering light of the moon illuminated the horizon, revealing the silhouettes of the woods and the Circle Tower far in the distance. And he found it difficult to fathom that their peace was about to end soon, replaced again with more fighting and bloodshed.

“So…” His voice broke the silence. It was his turn to ask questions now. “What will you do after all this is over? Will you be returning to the Chantry?”

“Eventually, I suppose…” A soft sigh escaped her. "I have a few loose ends to tie in Orlais.” 

“Is that so?" He tilted his head curiously. "Do those loose ends have anything to do with the reason you came to these dog-infested lands?” 

"Yes… But after traveling with Evy I have learned that I can't keep running away from it." Leliana's blue orbs sharpened with determination, hands closing tightly. "I must face my past... Even if it ends up turning me into someone I dislike.”

Zevran’s expression turned serious, sensing the trepidation in her tone. “Would you like some help?”

“No…” She shook her head. “This will be my battle... But thank you for offering.”

A firm hand then came to rest upon her shoulder as they both stared towards the horizon, seeing ahead a future filled with both hope and uncertainty.

“Let’s make it so we may each face what is to come. Shall we?”

“I pray that we do.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Wynne set down the book she’d been reading, placing it upon her desk by the burning candles that lip up her bedroom. A wrinkled hand graced over the leather cover while a wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She thought back on everything that’s happened—on the battle of Ostagar, how they saved the Circle of Magi, and about their quiet moments by the fire as they camped out in the wilderness. 

They were almost at the end now. Yet although it was a good feeling, it was bittersweet.

She had experienced and seen so much after having been locked away in a Circle for most of her life. And meeting new people and traveling alongside them had been a rejuvenating experience. One she would no doubt miss. 

A tap on her door disrupted her contemplations, pulling her mind back to the present time. Adjusting her robe, Wynne walked towards it, wondering who it might be at that hour of the night. She opened it to see a rock wall before her, then smiled upon gazing up at the face sitting at the top.

“Apologies if I disturbed your sleep," Shale said stiffly.

“No worries.” The old woman grinned warmly at her. “I wasn’t asleep yet. Come on in.”

The golem had to duck and squeeze through the door but successfully entered the small room. After having a quick look around, Shale regarded her once more, a little hesitant to speak.

“What can I help you with, Shale?” 

Her expression turned into something resembling unease as she spoke. “I… came to propose something to you. After the battle, I will be setting out to seek a way to rid myself of my immortality. To return to my dwarven self. You are the only likable mage I have encountered and your expertise might help solve my little predicament... So I thought to ask if you would like to come along with me.”

“Well, I am certainly glad you think of me that way,” Wynne chuckled as she walked to her bed, sitting at the edge with hands on her lap. She seemed to contemplate the golem’s offer, wondering if this would be her next calling. To help a friend regain their mortality, while also seeing more of the world with them. 

She was an old woman, but she would not die in a bed as one. It would be her choice to perish as she lived, wanting to help others and learn, and teach.

“Of course," Wynne finally replied. “I was not ready to settle down after this, anyway.”

Shale seemed to smile. “All right then. I suppose we can view it as yet another little adventure.”

“Indeed.”

The golem then gave the mage a concerned once over, taking notice of how tired she appeared. “How are you holding up? You have had to use your powers quite a bit lately.” 

Wynne shrugged a shoulder. “It is draining, but I was happy to help the Grey Wardens and these poor people.”

Shale nodded, folding her massive arms over her chest. “Let's hope we win the battle against those vermin. I would hate to see you all become a stain on the ground after all you’ve been through.”

The mage laughed lightly at her choice of words. “So would I. But I’m sure we’ll make it. We have an excellent leader to pull us through.”

“Hah. Yes... I suppose that little human does have what it takes.”

“That she does…” 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Wrong card, big guy.” 

Sten quietly glared at the dwarf as his enormous hand slowly picked up the insignificant piece of woven paper between two fingers. He begrudgingly put it back in his deck before picking the next one over. The dwarf had called this Wicked Grace, a game he’d heard about from others in the qun but never played.

Oghren snickered and took a drink from his pint, red cheeks almost blending in with his thick mustache and beard. The dwarves had already arrived from Orzammar at the Warden’s request, bringing with them barrels of the dwarven ale he’d sorely missed. They gathered in large numbers just outside Redcliffe village, their wagons pulled by brontos as they arranged their supplies around their tents. Soldiers sat around campfires that peppered the woods, some singing, and dancing about legendary battles of the past, while others played card games as they drank the night away. 

In a few days, they would all be fighting the fight of their lives, one that would put the Proving to shame. Many would not make it back home to their families and others would lose their friends. But despite the grim fates awaiting them, the dwarves showed no fear and no worries. For the bloodier the battle, the greater the glory.

“There!” Oghren scoffed, throwing a card down. “Your turn.”

“Your people prepare for battle in an odd way,” Sten commented dryly, sending a brief glance towards the dancing dwarves.

“Better to die merry than die a sad sod,” he muttered with a smirk. “Do you qunari ever have fun?”

Sten gave him a blank stare, pointing at his cards. “Is this not called a game?”

“Ancestor’s balls…” The dwarf glanced over at his cards, then up at him, thick brows shooting up in surprise. “So you’re having fun right now?”

Sten pulled another card and threw it down with his.

“Sod it…” he muttered in disbelief. “And did you just beat me?” 

A rare smirk made its way into Sten’s lips as he moved in on the coins they had stacked on the dirt, picking every piece. 

A hearty laugh erupted from the dwarf as he watched him claim his prize. “Pure luck, big guy!”

“Luck does not exist when one has skill,” Sten countered, stacking the earnings. 

“Sure, sure…” The dwarf picked up the cards, shuffling them for another round. “You heading back to your people after this is done?” 

Sten nodded.

“I can’t go back now. But that’s all good. The surface is growing on me,” Oghren said, looking at some of his fellow dwarves as they passed by their fire. 

They were laughing, one elbowing the other and spilling some of the ale from his cup. Oghren realized then that if they failed, the surface wouldn’t be the only world affected. The Blight would eventually take over Orzammar and no amount of armies would stop it. And that thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. “I might even join the Grey Wardens,” he said with a snicker. “Killing darkspawn’s too much fun to pass up.” 

“I would agree on that,” Sten said, extending his hand for the cards. “Now, again.”

“All right, damn it…” the dwarf grumbled, then took another swig of ale before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He then gave the qunari a cocky grin. “But I warn you, I never lose twice.”

A corner of Sten’s lips went up. “We shall see.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

There was activity in the castle despite the late hour of the night as the guards walked their routes and the rest of the staff busied themselves with their tasks. Some servants prepared the kitchens for the greater amount of visitors they were to feed the next day. While others tended to some nobles that were trickling in to announce their presence after having left their men to camp outside of town. 

Alistair’s footsteps echoed in the halls, along with those of the two royal guards following him, armors chiming as they walked. It had been a long, tiresome day. And that they tailed him every time he was without his party just added to his fatigue. He glanced over his shoulder at them. “You know, I don’t need to be escorted everywhere I go. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of course you are, sire,” one of the guards answered—a bearded man a few years older than he. “But with so many arriving from all over Ferelden, we cannot leave you to walk alone.”

“Right…” he muttered, turning away to hide his aggravation. The guard was right, but knowing that didn’t help improve his mood nor ease the tension on his shoulders after the last meeting.

Eamon had taken over most of the conversation, providing all the information they possessed and promising more details before the battle was to take place. Meanwhile, Alistair had initially wondered why he hadn't just told the lord he’d retired for the night. But after seeing the dread on the older man’s face, he’d understood why meeting him in person had been necessary. 

There were only terrifying tales of the darkspawn and the Blight—some were even true. Few understood them or dared fight them as much as they did. So the man had been seeking to see for himself who they would follow to a war they might not win. For whom he and his men were about to risk their lives. 

Alistair released a long breath, feeling the pressure. He was no longer just some guy with a sword. Now he was the one everyone looked to for reassurance, leadership, and support in the face of adversity. Which was likely what Eamon wanted to show him in the first place. 

They soon arrived at their wing of the guest chambers, where only their party would spend the night. 

After reaching the top of the spiral stairs, Alistair stopped and then turned to his escort. “I think I’ll be fine on my own from here on out.”

The guards exchanged skeptical glances. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on… I’m surrounded by two Grey Wardens, two mages, a mabari, two assassins—who happen to be friends of mine, by the way—a golem, a qunari, and a drunken dwarf. What in the Maker’s name could possibly happen to me?” 

“Very well, your Majesty,” one of them conceded with a smile. “We will stand guard here.”

“Good...” He let out a breath of relief, then nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Alistair then whirled around and continued on his way, enjoying the brief time alone with his thoughts while passing by the other rooms, heading for his own. 

The unpleasant news seemed to come one after the other. Just when he thought things were going well and the obstacles stopped coming, misfortune strikes again. He'd almost come to expect it, and yet this time the hit felt much harder. 

Every nobleman expected their woman to give them an heir. So it was something those in the Landsmeet would no doubt look forward to. They would likely judge her harshly for being unable to bear his children if they ever knew. Perhaps even try to urge him to marry or even bed some other girl to keep his bloodline going. _Yeah, they can’t find out. I won’t let that happen._

But appearances and politics aside, it also hurt to know that he’d never be able to father a child with her. That they could never raise a boy or a girl together as the family he’d dreamed of having one day. Still, regardless of it all, he felt no regrets about asking her to marry him. Crown or no crown.

Then there was the matter of the ultimate sacrifice one of them would have to make to end the Blight. Alistair knew with full certainty that if something were to happen to Riordan before they reached the dragon, she would be the one to try and take the kill. Not only because she loved him, but because of who he was now. 

The possibility alone made his chest constrict painfully. _No… That’s something else I can’t allow to happen. Even if it kills me._

He shook his head, trying to dispel the troubling thought as he paused before their door. _One thing at a time, Alistair._

With a breath, he took hold of the doorknob and knocked once. “It’s me.” 

He then stepped into the room, finding her submerged in a copper tub as she bathed while a single maid poured more warm water in. “Hey...” She greeted him with a slight smile, her beauty free of dirt and blood. Brunette locks clung to her creamy white skin, showering down her toned, pale shoulders. Rose petals floated around her, their perfume filling the room with its sweet scent and invading his senses. 

“Hey...” Alistair took a few slow steps, unable to keep his stare from wandering over what he could see of her breasts.

“How was the meeting?” she curiously inquired, very aware of the way he was looking at her, yet saying nothing. “It certainly took longer than I thought it would.”

“Yes…” He cleared his throat, temporarily breaking from her spell. “Sorry, it took so long… ” 

“No worries.”

His eyebrows pinched, noticing a certain hound hadn’t come to greet him. “Where’s Bjorn?”

“In the kennels. He needed to be bathed and fed.”

“Oh…” With a weary breath, he unclasped his cloak and slid it off. Then he headed to the armor stand in the corner, intent on ridding himself of the plate weighing him down. The maid silently left her side and went to him, taking the cloak from his hands. 

He frowned down at the young woman as she set the fabric on a table, then automatically removed his weapons, expertly undoing the belt and straps of his sword’s sheath. Then she took hold of his arm to work on removing his gauntlets, not once looking up at his face. 

“I can do that…” he awkwardly told her.

“It’s fine, darling,” Everil called from behind him. “Let her help you.”

Resisting another sigh, he begrudgingly complied. “All right…” 

The castle staff furnished the room for someone important, similar to the arl’s own room. Candles lit up the chamber along with a grand fireplace, revealing the intricately made wooden furniture. An oak desk sat against the wall, along with a bookshelf lined with old tomes and near it stood cherry wood wardrobe, off in a corner. A four-poster bed sat at the center, with rich red drapes hanging delicately from the canopy. Near the bed was also a dresser with a mirror and some items set over it.

Even with his back to her, he could feel her eyes on him. Her voice felt like music to his ears, especially after having spent hours listening to old, worried men talk about nothing but war.

“So did everything turn out well with the lord?” Everil inquired. “Was he reassured after speaking with you?”

“Yes… Everything went well. Though Eamon did most of the talking.” Gauntlets and pauldrons now on the table, he raised an arm while the maid began working off the buckles at the sides of his chest plate. “His name was Roel, from a tiny village near the Hinterlands. We spoke about what we expected would happen when we get to Denerim. He was worried about pretty much everything, but he seemed to feel better afterward.”

“Ah, good to hear.”

After finishing the buckles, he let the servant slide the heavy plate off his torso, only to notice her struggle with the weight. He couldn’t help but smile a little at her efforts, his irritation with her dissipating.

“Here, let me at least help with this,” he instructed gently, lifting the piece of armor from her hands. “You really don’t want this thing falling on your toes. It’s happened to me before and I think even the Maker heard me scream from the heavens.”

“Sorry, sire…” the woman whispered a nervous apology, blushing while smiling at his kind jest.

“It’s all right. Don’t even worry about it,” he quietly assured her, placing the piece on the stand. Then he continued the conversation. “I think Eamon wanted to show me how much I need to be seen.”

“Understandable,” Everil said, the sound of trickling water accompanying her words as she washed. “People feel better when they have a face that goes along with who they are told to follow.” 

“That’s what I figured...” Alistair then headed towards the small bench at the foot of the bed to remove his greaves, but the servant was there before he could do anything. He just let her, too tired to fight it. 

“You know…” He sent his betrothed a brief glance, shoulders slouched and forearms on his thighs, not really caring about the maid’s presence as he spoke. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” Everil asked with raised eyebrows.

“All of this…” He smiled wryly at her. 

Now understanding what he meant, Everil put on a sympathetic smile, seeing just how exhausted he looked. She directed her stare to the maid just as she finished putting away his greaves. “You may leave us now,” she told the woman. “Thank you for all your help.”

The servant bowed to them, then exited the room, closing the door behind her.

Everil then returned her attention to him and gestured to the wooden chair beside her tub. “Come sit with me, love.”

With slight effort, Alistair rose from his seat, adjusting the pure white tunic he’d been wearing under all the armor as he walked over towards her. He sat beside her bath and rested his chin on one hand, another breath escaping him.

“Speak to me,” she requested gently. “What's bothering you?”

“That I’m still not very good at the leading thing,” he muttered with uncertainty. “So far, all I've done is stand around and listen to everyone do the work for me.”

“You are new at this. Of course you'll need help at first.” She deliberately ran the washcloth down her shoulder, then along her arm. “There is no shame in it.”

He absently observed her motions. “I just wish I could do more...” 

“And you will...” The water rained down as she worked on her other arm. “All the best kings know to understand their own strengths and weaknesses and utilize the skills of those around them to their benefit. That's what it means to be a leader.” 

“I know…” His ears listened to her words, but his gaze wandered over her, following that cloth everywhere it went as she wiped away what little remained of the dirt and blood.

“It will be easier over time,” she gently assured him, bringing her hand up to stroke along her neck. 

“I… hope so…” His captivated stare trailed those lithe fingers as they sensually glided over her skin, descending to her chest whilst rosy droplets trickled down her throat. The scent of roses and her soothing voice drove his anxiety away, yet his pulse quickened the more he watched her caress her own body. 

Such simple actions. Yet so methodical. So alluring. Then he finally noticed her wince when she went to wash behind her neck. “Sore?” he asked with a subtle frown.

“Yes… From all the fighting today.”

“Hold on…” Alistair rose to his feet and picked up the chair, taking it with him and setting it behind her. He sat back down, placing his bare hands on her shoulders.

His touch sent shivers down her spine, causing her to shudder despite the surrounding warmth. Everil moaned softly as his calloused thumbs dug into her aching muscles, massaging them in slow circles and slowly undoing some painful knots. And then with a dreamy sigh, she closed her eyes and melted into the bath, head falling back to rest against the edge of the tub.

Alistair let out a soft chuckle. “I take it that feels good?”

“Hmm... Very much so...” she whispered blissfully, resting her head against his arm. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two, stretching for a few peaceful minutes as his hands worked on releasing her tensions. The occasional whimper disrupted the quiet every once in a while, drawn out by him as he straightened a different kink. His fingers steadily made their way along the back of her neck and on her upper back while Everil felt as if she were under a spell, her body and mind going numb.

Then she felt him gently nuzzle her temple, his breath grazing her brow. “Everil…”

“Hm?”

He hesitated. “About what Riordan said… Are you sure you feel all right?”

And just like that, the spell broke. 

His brow furrowed when she slowly sat up, pulling away from him. 

“Could you help me with the robe, please?” She gestured towards the piece of clothing hanging over the only other chair nearby. 

With a concerned expression, Alistair stood and complied with her request, taking the plain white robe and bringing it for her. Everil then emerged from the waters before he promptly draped it over her shoulders, allowing her to slip her arms through the sleeves. He helped her step out of the bath before she tied the sash around her waist. 

“I… honestly don’t know if I’m all right or not,” Everil admitted, avoiding his stare. “I guess I’m mostly just worried.” She then walked away towards the dresser, bare feet padding over the furs that lay on the floor.

“Worried about what? If it’s about us getting married, our engagement still stands,” he said firmly while he stepped after her. He stopped a short distance behind her as she picked up her comb and brushed her hair. 

“Unless…” His confidence faltered. “Unless you've changed your mind about it.”

“No, of course not. I want to be with you.” Everil sighed lightly and stopped brushing, lowering her arms to rest both hands on the dresser. “But…” She sorrowfully gazed at him through the mirror before hanging her head. “But is that truly what you want? I… I will not be able to give you the family you deserve.”

“Everil…” Alistair approached her, standing behind her as his arms slid around her narrow waist. He held her to him, resting his chin over her shoulder as he whispered to her. “You are the only family I need, my love.”

Her heart twisted at his loving words and her tears welled up. It was all too unfair. That even if they were to survive through the Blight they would not have normal lives. To know what it would be like to have children of their own.

And she was to be queen? How could she take the crown knowing what she knew? The only way for them to produce a child may only be to sleep with someone else. But even that may not be a sure solution, and the very thought of it bothered her to no end. Not to mention that she was sure he would never go through with it. “Ferelden…” she breathed shakily, closing her eyes tightly. “Ferelden will require an heir… The Landsmeet...”

“Hey…” Alistair turned her around to face him, then gently lifted her chin, drawing her tearful gaze up to his. “They won’t find out about this unless we tell them. And even if they do find out, I won't let them tear you away from me. You’ll be my wife. End of story.” 

“Alistair…” 

“Besides… ” He tenderly cupped her cheek, then wiped away the single tear that escaped her. “If there's anything we’ve been especially good at, it’s not giving up no matter the odds. So don't lose hope. We may yet be able to conceive despite what Riordan said.”

She reached up to place her hand over his, leaning into his touch. “What if it doesn’t happen? What then?” 

“Then if Ferelden doesn’t get an heir…” With a small, devilish smile he came closer and seductively brushed his lips over hers. “...it won’t be for lack of trying.”

Everil let out a soft chuckle. “I guess... it’s a good thing we started when we did.”

“Mm-hmm…” he hummed before his lips pressed fully to hers. Once. Twice. Then three times as his hands descended to her hips. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, each kiss raising her temperature up a notch. 

“Maybe…” Alistair purred between kisses. “Maybe we should try again right now…”

She smiled, his deep voice making her shiver. “I like the way you think…”

Then he deepened the kiss, drawing a sigh out of her as his tongue invaded her, seeking to explore the confines of her mouth. Her heart raced in her ears as she did the same with him, searching his depths as she satiated her thirst. His hot breath graced her face as they spared in a slow, yet passionate waltz, pouring in all of their emotions and need. 

He nibbled her bottom lip, then suckled it, moaning softly as he pinned her to the dresser behind her. His calloused hands spread open her robe, snuck under it, and traveled to her rear, palming both glutes, fingers digging into flesh as a possessive growl came from deep within his throat. The subtle act of dominance caused her pulse to race like the gallop of a hundred horses, fueling the fire in her blood.

Everil whimpered with desire against his mouth, while her hands slid down broad shoulders and over a rock-hard chest, his pecs tensing beneath his shirt. Gasping for air, she broke away from his lips and pulled on his tunic, sliding it up and over his head before discarding it onto the floor. Her lips then trailed fervent kisses along his stout jaw and then his neck, earning a throaty groan as her hands roamed over rippling muscles. She lightly pushed him back, creating some space between them as her mouth traveled along his collarbone, then down his chest. Her tongue savored the taste of him along the way, his muscles twitching under her wet kisses as he released a shuddering breath.

“Everil…” 

Hearing him call her name made her look up at him through long lashes, meeting his stare as she ventured further south. She traveled down his stomach, between his hard abs, and under his navel, leaving a sizzling path behind as she heard him moan. Then she promptly undid the knot on his breeches and slid them down his hips, setting free his member as it stood erect for her.

He swallowed when her delicate fingers wrapped around him and drew in a breath when the warmth of her mouth surrounded him. She took him in, then moved her head back, her tongue dragging along his length as he moaned, the mind-numbing sensation making his knees grow weak. He placed his hand atop her head whilst she continued sucking on him, her lips gripping him tightly, her mouth soaking him wet. 

His guttural groans fueled her need to please him and she loved his voice too much to stop. So she took him deeper, forcing his member all the way into her throat.

“Oh, Maker…!” he grunted in surprise.

Everil went faster, controlling her breathing as her head bobbed back and forth, swallowing him whole each time.

"Ah…! Maker's breath!" Alistair gripped the wooden furniture as if it were his lifeline, suddenly unable to think or reason under the sharp streams of electricity she was unleashing upon him. All he could do was feel her mouth, her tongue, and that tight throat. All he could hear were the suckling noises and her breathy whimpers.

And then she moaned, the vibrations intensifying the sensations tenfold and nearly shattering his control. He gasped, his hand shooting down to clutch her shoulder. "W-Wait…!"

Everil opened her eyes and released him from her mouth to gaze up at him, one hand still slowly stroking his length while she absently licked her lips. “Yes…?”

He gulped. _So beautiful…_

That sight alone made him almost go over the edge.

She gave him a seductive smile. “I thought you were enjoying that…” 

“I was, you minx… A bit too much…” Alistair uttered breathlessly, letting out a weak chuckle. “Now, come here…” He gently detached her hand from him and helped her to her feet. His lips then sought hers, devouring them in a brief, yet passionate kiss before he broke apart and whispered, “Turn around and bend over for me…”

Swallowing at his command, Everil did as she was told and faced the dresser, placing both hands over it, her curiosity piqued. She watched through the mirror as he lifted her robe, gathering all the fabric until he fully exposed her rear. The hunger over his reflection’s eyes made her shudder as his hand came to rest on her hip. He adjusted himself behind her and she moaned softly upon feeling him deliberately drag the tip of his member along her slick petals.

“Hmm… Seems I wasn’t the only one enjoying that…” he teased with an impish grin.

She bit her bottom lip with a blush, feeling herself pulse expectantly. “Be nice…”

Another, deeper laugh escaped him. “I can’t be nice when I’m about to do some very naughty things to you, my dear…” 

Everil felt his hard rod slide into her, making her squeal with delight as he stretched her walls until he hit her top. She moaned when he drew back, his length sliding along her wet cave until he was almost out. Then he thrust in. Swift and hard. Touching a different spot inside her. 

"Ah…!" she cried feebly as a crackling bolt shook her core. Then he slid out and in again. And again. Each time making her squeal.

“Oh, yes…” he groaned lustfully, admiring her backside as her glutes lightly shook each time he slammed against her. “I like this view…”

Slapping sounds filled the room as she panted and moaned for him, joined by the rattling of the wooden dresser as his rough movements caused it to shake. Alistair's gaze then met hers through the mirror, admiring the look of ecstasy on her beautiful features. And he wanted to give her more of it. To please her until they were both a spent, tangled mess. So he picked up the pace, pounding into her at a more steady rhythm, his member stroking her moist insides as her moans grew louder.

"Oh, yes…! Hm!" Everil whimpered, hands closing into fists as he rocked her back and forth with each thrust. And he groaned with her, both riding the delicious friction as he leaned forward. 

“Everil…” He kissed the back of her shoulder while his arms snaked around her, searching for the front of her robe. “Let me see them…” he purred as he spread open the fabric, never once stopping his movements while revealing her bare chest to him. 

She squealed when he palmed her breasts, his stare shamelessly holding her own as he fondled them. His rough hands massaged her mounds in circles, squeezing each time his member shot in, further sharpening the currents rushing over her from her blazing core.

Then he pinched her nipples between his fingers with a few rough thrusts, making her throw her head back with a cry. Oh, how she loved feeling him. How she relished the way he sometimes played with her as if he owned her. And he was right, for she was his and his alone. 

Alistair huffed as one of his hands slid down her stomach, reaching past the robe and to the aching spot between her thighs. His fingers spread her slick folds, revealing the pulsing bulb at the center before he promptly pressed and rubbed it, earning a stifled cry.

“Ah!” she gasped as his rough fingers churned the currents, sending them rushing through her. 

His other hand came to rest on top of hers, unfolding her fist only to lay her palm flat on the dresser while lacing his through her fingers. He watched through half-lidded eyes their reflection on that shaking mirror as he pounded her, seeing her breasts bounce with the motion. And the pleasure on her face drove him, pure passion clouding his mind as his instincts took over. 

“My name…” he grunted, panting for breath. “Say my name…” 

Everil whined, then bit her lip, his possessive request making her quiver. “Ah…! Alistair!”

“Again…” He whisked his lips along the arch of her ear, his breath hot and heavy. “Say it again, my love…” His hips moved faster as he rubbed her harder, the rattling of the furniture against the wall growing louder, joined by clunking sounds as the bottles on it toppled over.

“Oh…! Alistair, yes! Ah, keep going!” she cried out as the sensations grew sharper and sharper. The heat was almost suffocating, fogging all thought as she struggled to focus on anything but him. On his digits stirring the flames, on his sword repeatedly spearing her loins. On how he was pushing her closer and closer to the incoming drop.

“That’s it, love… Come for me…” he whispered heavily.

And she was falling, crying out his name one more time as everything crumbled around her. She pummeled into the raging waters, trembling and spasming against him as his fingers continued to rub her twitching clit, intensifying every wave that rushed over her.

Alistair clenched his jaw as he kept a tight grip on his own orgasm, stubbornly refusing to let go as she clenched and throbbed around him. _Not yet..._

“Oh, Maker…” Everil whimpered weakly, arms and knees shaking as the waves kept coming, slowly easing away until she was numb again. Her chest heaved, the rapid drum of her pulse making it difficult for her to regain her ability to breathe. She gazed back up at her reflection, seeing her flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat over her own body. Her stare then went to him, puzzled and dazed. “You didn’t…?” 

“Nope…” With a small, wicked grin, Alistair withdrew his fingers from her sex and whispered huskily into her ear. “Because we’re not done…”

A shiver ran down her spine at those words. And before she could ask any questions, Alistair was pulling out of her and taking her hand. 

The steps to the bed were but a blur before her back hit the mattress, her lips parted, still panting for air. Calloused hands then took her legs as he knelt between them upon the bed, holding them behind the knees and bending them towards her chest whilst spreading them wide. Everil gulped and licked her lips, seeing blearily that he’d positioned her hips tilted up so her glimmering sex lay wide open for him.

He then darted into her still tingling depths, the new angle letting him reach deeper than before as a surprised cry left her. Then his thumb found her aching, swollen bulb, and began to rub again, his other hand still holding one of her legs to keep her in place. He pounded her, hard and fast, gliding in and out of her now soaked tunnel as his grunts followed the wet sounds that escaped their joined parts.

“Maker! Oh, Maker!” she exclaimed, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath her as he ravaged her. The rough way he speared her depths nearly hurt, but all she could do was take it. And she welcomed it, too enthralled by the heat to care as the echoes of her past orgasm seemed to reemerge from deep within her.

He groaned loudly, admiring every bit of her while mercilessly continuing his assault. The feeling of her walls along his length combined with her sweet scent was intoxicating. Like a drug he just couldn’t get enough of. He wanted nothing but to feel her a while longer. To hear her cries urging him as she begged for more. “Ah, yes…!” he grunted, locking his eyes with hers as he stroked her aching bulb in sync with his thrusts. “Say my name again… Let me hear you, love…”

“Oh, Alistair...!” Everil squealed loudly, finding the friction almost maddening as she struggled to tell up from down and left from right. “Oh, Alistair, don't stop!”

It was all quickly becoming too much. The sound of his groans and the creaking of the bed each time their hips slapped together. The way his finger rubbed her already stimulated core. How he looked staring at her from above through those beautiful, hungry ambers. How his rod rammed against her over and over, forcing upon her more pleasure mixed with the dull, yet delicious pain.

Grunting through clenched teeth, Alistair felt her tighten around him and kept going, stroking her in erratic circles and seeking to give her a second release. And the more he looked upon her features. The more he watched her breasts bounce when their bodies met. The longer he smelled the sweet aroma of her flower. The closer he came to reaching his own.

Then one last, hard pump and he felt her clench around him as they both came to a mind-shattering end. 

“A-Alistair!” she screamed, gripping the sheets as he let out a strangled cry, his groin flush with hers as he filled her womb. She convulsed beneath him as intense waves slammed her like a stormy sea breaking against the rocks. 

Everil whimpered and whined, as he continued to glide in and out of her, riding the raging waters as they slowly eased into lingering ripples. She swallowed, throat sore and lungs burning as she released her grip on the covers and shakily reached out to him. 

He gently brought down her quivering legs, then lowered himself upon her sweat streaked form, keeping himself deep within her. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she closed her eyes as he tenderly brushed his lips over her cheek, heavy breaths grazing her skin. 

“Darling…” she called softly, suddenly numb all over, her heart still drumming in her chest.

“Mmmyes...?” Alistair murmured sleepily, sprinkling light kisses down her neck as the exhaustion from that day settled over him.

She tenderly stroked his hair. “Have I ever… told you how wonderful you are…?”

“Hmm…” was her only answer before a light snore reached her ear.

A smile spread over her lips as she held him tightly, warmth spreading through her chest. He hadn’t exactly had time to rest since the Landsmeet, with the constant meetings and Eamon’s lectures. Even she had gotten more sleep than he during the few nights they’d camped on the way to Redcliffe. 

“Rest well, my king…” she whispered to him, sighing as weariness also claimed her. 

  
  



	18. The Dark Ritual

⚜

  
  
  
  


_T_ _he gentle sound of chirping birds_ and rolling water lured her from the vivid images of death, blood, and monsters as her eyes cracked open, squinting at the morning light. With a quiet whimper, she rolled onto her back and stretched her arms, grunting as her joints and muscles regained feeling. For once in a long time, she felt oddly rested, the unpleasant dreams that plagued her having done little to disrupt the deep slumber she'd been under.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Everil groggily turned her head in his direction and paused. “I… uhm… morning...” she stammered awkwardly, blinking at the unexpected sight.

Alistair sat casually by the window, legs crossed and cheek resting on his fist as warm sunlight reflected over his gold plated armor, giving it an almost ethereal glow. It took her a few seconds to realize it was he she was seeing and not Cailan, the armor being a replica of the one he wore in Ostagar, with the same royal emblem that marked him as Ferelden’s king. 

She slowly sat up, mouth agape upon finding the picture very attractive. Then she noticed the soreness between her legs and winced, the ache snapping her out of the spell.

With slight concern, he rose from the chair to sit at the edge of the bed, gently taking her hand. “Everything all right?”

Memories from the night before poured into her mind, bringing a smile to her face. “Yes… Everything’s fine," she assured him with a light chuckle. “Just… still feeling last night.”

"Oh, I see…" He smirked a little, mischief and pride crinkling the corners of his eyes. "So I was a little too rough on you… I apologize, my love. Would you like me to lick your wounds?"

Heat rose to her cheeks and her parts throbbed at his insinuation before another amused chuckle escaped her. Smiling seductively, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his as one hand came to rest on his chest. "Maybe tonight… If we can get some time alone."

He grinned. "I'm sure I can make time..."

"We’ll see..." she teased with a wink, then patted his shining plate. "Nice armor, by the way."

"Ah, yes, this. I guess the arl picked it up from the royal palace before we left Denerim. They had it cleaned and polished before bringing it up," he said and gave her a playful grin. “The three maids he sent with it helped me put it on while you slept.” He leaned in with a snicker. “You should have seen the look on their faces when they saw you lying naked on my bed… I told them to let you sleep because all the fun we had last night left you spent.”

“Alistair!” She playfully smacked his arm.

He chortled at her reaction, bringing her hand up to kiss her fingers. “Just kidding...”

She shook her head hopelessly. “Well, it suits you.”

Sighing, he looked down at himself, the adorable look on his face resembling that of a dejected child. “I still like the Grey Warden armor better.” 

“I know you do…" She offered him a sympathetic smile while gently cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch, placing his hand over hers before turning his head to tenderly kiss her palm.

“I should get ready…" She let out a breath and lowered her arm. "Arl Eamon and the others are probably waiting for us."

“Right… I actually have to meet with him before we go." He rose to his feet and then bent over, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you later…”

Everil watched him leave, shutting the door behind him. At that moment, as she sat in the sudden loneliness of the room, thoughts of the Blight returned. Her gaze went to the bedsheets as the senior Warden's words about the Archdemon seemed to haunt her. There was a genuine possibility that Riordan could die trying to reach the dragon, or during his battle with it, leaving either her or Alistair with the responsibility of killing it. 

If she were to make the choice, she would leave Alistair heartbroken. And yet knowing him, she knew he would likely be the one to do it so she may live. The thought of losing him instantly made her chest tighten uncomfortably. And when she imagined herself without him, the pressure became almost unbearable.

Not to mention that now it wouldn’t affect only her. If he were to perish, Ferelden would be left without a king and would probably fall into disarray once again. Anora could take the crown back, but that didn't guarantee the Bannorn would be under control.

"I won't allow it..." she told herself, a confident look on her features. If the worst came to pass, she would be the one to kill the dragon. No matter the cost.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Days passed since they left Redcliffe, forced to take their army the long way north to avoid the blighted lands further south. As they marched, dwarves, elves, and mages flew their individual banners, while the human forces carried Ferelden’s royal flag, marching in the front. Each group moved in an organized fashion, one after the other trekking after Alistair, Everil and the rest of their party as they led them on horseback. Eamon also rode with them, serving as an advisor to the king after leaving Teagan to help handle matters in Redcliffe.

They had been traveling through the woods and by a nearby lake when they stopped for one last night of rest. It was the eve before the battle, and everyone in their camp was on edge. Soldiers of all races gathered around campfires that peppered the area, eating and laughing to forget the fear of the horrors they were about to face. While royal guards patrolled the clearing in constant surveillance, ready to sound the alarm should any enemy attempt to surprise them from the shadows.

Everil silently observed some of the men from beside her tent, arms folded over her chest as Bjorn sat beside her. Many of the people gathered before her would not survive past tomorrow. And many had families waiting for them back home. That knowledge weighed heavily over her as she recalled one of the many wise lessons her father taught her many years ago.

_"Our soldiers and their families are our most valuable assets—even above coin itself.”_

_“Why is that Papa?”_

_“Because they are the only ones willing to give up everything to protect us and our people. Their sacrifice makes peace possible. Never take them for granted.”_

Footsteps drew her attention to one of the royal guards as he approached her, his helmet keeping his features hidden as he spoke with a fist to the chest. “General, the king sends for you. He and the arl are ready to communicate the last strategy for the battle.”

"Very well. Take me to him."

The man walked ahead of her as she and the hound followed him to the edge of the wide clearing, where they’d set up a table with maps, candles, and markers. Alistair, Riordan, Eamon, and officers of each race stood around it, talking quietly amongst each other. The picture vaguely reminded her of Ostagar and the time just before the battle, but she shoved aside the comparison. _This isn’t Ostagar. This time, we will win._

“There you are,” Alistair greeted her as she approached to stand on the other side of the table.

“I hear we have a solid plan?” Everil asked as she gazed at the map.

"Yes," Eamon replied, the light of the candle reflecting over the silver metal of his plate armor. “I drafted the quickest route for you and your chosen party to reach Fort Drakon. Unfortunately, there is a possibility that you will have to fight your way there.” He then gestured towards Alistair. “Sire?”

“Right. So, over the past few days, I’ve been thinking...” Alistair folded his arms. “I seriously doubt that the darkspawn would just move in and stand around doing nothing while waiting for us. We’ve seen they’re capable of building structures in the Deep Roads. If they have any brains at all, they will want to close off the roads to the tower to make it more difficult for anyone to reach the archdemon.”

“That’s true…” Everil uttered quietly, a frown creasing her brow. “Then perhaps a detachment would have to assist.”

Eamon nodded, hands clasped behind his back. “That is part of the plan.”

Alistair continued, resting a hand on the table while leaning over the map to point at the paths charted on it. “We can send a detachment from each of our allies to follow the Grey Wardens and fight at their command, then you can use the back roads here and here to avoid the bulk of the horde. The rest of the army will focus on liberating each district from enemy forces, saving as many civilians as they can.” He then gazed up at her and the others. “The primary goal is to kill the dragon, but we also have to keep the darkspawn on their toes, otherwise they will use their numbers against us. Which… wouldn't be nice.”

“That sounds like a good strategy, though I would like to suggest a minor change,” Riordan interjected somberly, arms crossed. "I would like to use the chaos to try and make my way to the dragon on my own. If we can defeat it sooner, we may not lose as many lives." He turned to her. "Everil, you will lead the party and fight your way into Fort Drakon. I’ll want you there in case I need your help… Or in case I fail to kill it."

She dipped her head. “Got it.”

“I'll be going with her too.” 

Everyone turned their attention to the king.

“Alistair, I don’t believe that to be necessary,” Eamon objected with a creased forehead.

“Sorry, but my decision is final. I'm also a Grey Warden and I won’t let my comrades risk their lives without me,” he insisted, leaving no room for argument.

“Then I suppose we will have to pray to the Maker so you and our General make it back alive, my liege,” said Ser Donall, his new knight-commander, a grave look upon his rugged features. Eamon himself recently appointed him, having been one of his most trusted knights and someone who’d served under the arl since before he sent Alistair to the Chantry.

“Don’t worry about us, just focus on leading the men against the darkspawn," Alistair replied with a friendly smile.

"Good then!” the dwarven general said with a smirk, meaty arms crossed as he ran his fingers through a white beard. “It sounds like we have what we need for the fun tomorrow.”

“My archers will be available on command," said the Dalish commander. “Just make sure we have a perch to set on and we'll make our arrows rain down upon those creatures for you.”

Everil smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“Our mages are also prepared,” added one of the senior enchanters. “We can assist with heavy spells on larger numbers should you become overwhelmed.”

"We appreciate all your support in this. We really wouldn't have a fighting chance without you," Alistair told them all. “At any rate, we should go rest for the night. We'll be heading to battle at sunrise.”

The knights brought both fists to their chests and bowed to him before turning on their heels and heading back to camp. The other races also dispersed, each heading for their own tents. Riordan gently patted Everil’s shoulder, nodding to her before going back, as well. 

“Well done, Alistair," Eamon praised, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Make sure you return in one piece tomorrow. Ferelden needs you.” 

“I’ll do my best…” was all he could say.

He and Everil saw the arl also make his way to his tent as Bjorn lay down by her feet. A brief silence followed, the sound of the men in the distance the only background noise until she drew in a breath and turned to him. “I don’t think you should come with us.” 

He shot her a critical look. “What?”

“As Riordan said, if he fails against the archdemon, someone else will have to take the responsibility of killing it.”

Alistair tensed, knitting his brow. “So you’re telling me that someone will be you…”

“Yes," she replied without hesitation.

“No. You can’t,” he reproached, promptly stepping around the table to stand before her. “I won't let you do it.”

“Alistair…" she sighed in both sadness and frustration. “You're Ferelden's king now. Compared to you, I am expendable.”

“No, not to me you’re not…” He stepped closer to gently grasp her arms. “You’re all I have... If I lose you, nothing else will matter.”

"I know…" Everil shook her head and reached up to gently cup his cheek, smiling weakly at him. “I feel the same way you do... Which is why I want to do this. For your sake and for Ferelden’s.” 

Another brief silence followed as the two held each other's gaze, standing close to one another. 

Candlelight reflected over his ambers, illuminating the uncertainty and the dread swimming inside them. And in turn, he saw in her blue orbs the full confidence she held in her decision. Which meant that he wouldn’t be able to convince her. That he wouldn’t be able to stop her if that time ever came.

With a quivering breath, Alistair pulled her into his arms, one hand resting on the back of her head as he held her to him. She returned the bittersweet embrace, closing her eyes as the cool metal of his armor pressed against her body. 

“Damn it…” he breathed helplessly into her hair. “I wish there was another way... There _has_ to be another bloody way…”

“There is.” 

Surprised by the unexpected voice, they both withdrew just enough to look in its direction. 

Everil blinked. “Morrigan…” 

The witch was standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed and her yellow glare glowing ominously in the dark as she stared intently back at them.

“You know about this...?” Alistair spun to face her with a scrutinizing look.

“About the need for a Grey Warden to sacrifice themselves to kill the archdemon? Yes. Yes, I do," Morrigan replied dryly, then motioned towards the woods behind her. “Come... What I have to tell you mustn't be heard by anyone else, under any circumstances. Leave the mongrel too. We must avoid any unwanted attention it may bring if it barks.”

Alistair and Everil exchanged glances before she turned to her hound. “Stay here, boy,” she commanded, petting his head. 

The hound whined curiously at her before seeing them disappear with the woman into the woods. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The pair silently tailed her, both wary of the witch's cryptic words as they crossed through the darkness with her. She led them deeper into the forest, far enough so they could only see the subtle glow of campfires from a distance. Thick foliage enveloped them, the light of the moon shining in thin streaks through the canopy above and casting moving shadows as the branches shifted with the breeze.

Finding a suitable spot to talk, Morrigan faced them. She unclasped her staff from her back, then tapped it on the ground, igniting the tip on fire for a bit of light.

“All right, Morrigan.” Alistair began impatiently, crossing his arms. “What's this secret solution of yours?”

“Allow me to speak and you will know it, fool,” she replied before turning her attention to Everil. “I know a way to save all Grey Wardens from death after defeating the archdemon. It is a ritual taught to me by my mother, and the real reason why I was sent on this quest with you after Ostagar.” 

“The real reason…?” Everil repeated quietly, furrowing her brow. 

“As you well know, the archdemon was once an Old God, corrupted and awakened from its slumber by the darkspawn. When defeated by a Grey Warden, the Old God’s connection to the taint will draw its soul towards them, destroying both of them in the process.” Morrigan tilted up her chin, her expression cool and collected. “Old Gods are legendary beings who must be protected instead of destroyed, just as I believe ancient magic and lore should be preserved. My wish is to save this Old God and to keep its power for my own. To do so, however, I will require a vessel in its most pure state. This will allow the Old God to be reborn anew, with me to raise it as I see fit.” 

“So you want to grow your own Old God…” Alistair muttered uncomfortably, arching an eyebrow at her. “Ever thought of picking up gardening, instead? I hear leeks are nice this time of year.”

Morrigan sent him a disparaging glare. “Someone with your level of intellect would never understand, Alistair.”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying that you may be playing with fire here. What if something goes wrong and you doom us all?”

“Then ‘twould be my burden to bear, not yours.”

“How very responsible of you…”

“All right, then…” Everil stepped in with a sigh, a little impatient. “What do we need to do, Morrigan?” 

“The ritual I mentioned must be performed on the eve of battle. Tonight.” Morrigan paused, tilting her nose up at her. “It will produce an unborn child—the vessel I require to capture the Old God’s soul.”

“A child?” Everil whispered nervously. “Do you mean—” 

“It means that a male Grey Warden must lay with me tonight. The child created from our union will bear the taint, and once the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek out the child like a beacon. In this early stage, the child can absorb it without perishing. Thus the archdemon is destroyed without a Grey Warden dying in the process.” Morrigan’s chilling gaze shifted to Alistair. “Alistair… You are the male Grey Warden I need.”

His eyes went wide, all color draining from his face. “W-What?” 

Everil’s expression mirrored his.

“Why must it be so surprising?” Morrigan smirked a little, unconcerned by their shock. “As I said… ‘Twas the reason why Flemeth sent me with you. You were the one my mother chose to begin with.”

“But why…?” Everil’s astonishment quickly turned into an indignant scowl, her voice rising. "Why must it be Alistair! Why can't it be Riordan instead!"k

“It must be a Grey Warden who has not lived with the taint for so long. Riordan would be unable to produce a child by this point,” Morrigan responded evenly, chillingly calm. “So unless you know of someone else in the immediate vicinity, Alistair is the only one who can give me what I need.”

Everil tore her eyes from hers, glaring weakly at the ground.

“I… I can't believe what I'm hearing…” Alistair breathed out.

“So what happens after... After it’s over?" Everil questioned, chest painfully tight. She’d thought this woman to be her friend. Now, it was as if she’d never really known her. “What happens to you and the child?”

“‘Tis quite simple, really…” Morrigan’s lips spread into a wicked smirk. “After the battle is over, and I have what I want, I will disappear from your lives forever. The child will be mine to raise as I please, far from Ferelden. And no one but you and Alistair will ever know of its existence.”

“I… Then…” Everil hesitated, nervously glancing towards the still stunned Alistair. “Then maybe we should accept the offer..."

“What? No!” Alistair objected, horrified by what they were agreeing to at his expense. “I’m not about to make the same bloody mistake my father did and curse some other child to live the life I did!”

Everil licked her lips. “Alistair…” 

“And just think about what you’d be asking me to do so that Morrigan can have her little pet.” He curled his nose in disgust. “To perform some… sex ritual with her! How could you even _consider_ such a thing? And you!” He directed his glare at the witch while pointing a finger to Everil. “How dare you force her to make that choice! She’s to be my wife, for Maker’s sake!”

“I am not forcing anything upon you! I am simply offering you a way out!” Morrigan shot back. “Do you not wish for the both of you to survive tomorrow?”

“Of course I do! But this isn’t just about us!” Alistair snapped, then shook his head, taking a long, flustered breath as he rubbed the back of his tense neck. “If—and this is a huge _if_ —I even consider doing this with you… What actual assurances can you give me that you won't use this child against Ferelden one day? What guarantees do you have for me that this bastard child of mine won't come back years later to try and take over the throne?” 

The witch scowled. “None. You will simply have to trust me.”

“Oh, well, isn't that just great?” Alistair threw his arms up, then whirled about to return to camp. “I'm done talking. I'm going back to my tent and then I'm going to pretend that this conversation never happened!”

Everil watched him go, lips pressed into a line, and for the first time, unsure of what to do or say. He was right to be angry at her apparent decision. Right to doubt the witch after her deception. And she knew she should be too. But all she could feel was dread, heartache, and doubt. _What should I do…?_

“Warden…”

Her lost gaze slowly shifted to Morrigan.

“If you wish to save that stubborn man of yours, go speak with him,” she urged quietly, her expression hinted with aggravation. “Only you can sway him.”

“Why, Morrigan?” Everil asked, her betrayal still stinging. “Why didn't you just tell me from the beginning?”

“We have no time for sentimentalism. And I have no interest in talking about this any further. I have said my piece. Now, 'tis all up to you.” A deep breath escaped her purple lips as the witch looked away from her, pointing a slender finger to where they could see water glistening past the trees. “There is a cave on the other side of the lake, near the shore. Far enough from the campsite. Tell him I shall be waiting there, should he accept my offer.”

“Wait…” Everil breathed with trepidation. “What about… What about this child’s future? Will having the soul of an Old God inside not cause it harm? Perhaps... even eventually kill it?”

Morrigan paused for a moment, surprised by her sincere concern. Even with what was happening to her, the woman still found it in herself to worry about someone else. Someone she’d never even come to know if her betrothed were to agree to sleep with her. 

She felt a pang of guilt at having to put her through this, yet hid it behind a cold facade. “No…” she answered quietly. “You need not worry. I can promise you that no harm will come to the child.”

Everil sighed. “Very well…”

“I suggest you make haste, girl. We only have tonight.” 

With that, the witch whirled around and continued her trek to the lake, leaving her standing in the woods, alone in the dark with her unsettling thoughts.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Candles lit up the inside of his tent, flickering gently from the desk he’d used to read documents Eamon insisted he study during their travels. A trunk was beside it, full of clothes he never planned to wear out in the field. They’d also brought other, more unnecessary furniture for him, positioned by the bright yellow and red burlap surrounding him.

At the center of it all was his bed, wide enough for two people, covered in furs and pillows and admittedly more comfortable than sleeping on the ground. It was almost too much for him, to the point where, when he’d been first forced into it, he’d proclaimed it unfair that the rest of his party didn't get the same treatment. However, Eamon had those protests shot. So now his soldiers had to take down and move everything every time they changed locations.

With an annoyed grunt, Alistair set his golden armor on the nearby wooden chair, causing it to creak under its weight. He took the two steps to his bed and plopped onto the edge, glaring at the far corner of his tent with a huff. Needless to say, he was still aggravated by Morrigan’s daring request and by her deceit. By the way in which she’d attempted to use their situation to her benefit.

Of course, she and her mother had plans for them from the start. Probably from the very moment they stumbled upon her while searching for the Grey Warden treaties in the ruins. Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, couldn’t have had much to worry about during a Blight, and she wouldn’t have helped them out of the kindness of her heart. And now her daughter sought to continue where she left off. To offer her so-called help to gain something in return. _The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…_

Alistair blinked as those distant words resonated in his mind, reminding him of the phrase the old woman had used on him when he was drowning in his own grief over Duncan’s passing. His forehead creased in consternation, trying to make sense of them. _Did she mean King Maric? Would she have known about my parentage just by looking at me?_ His frown deepened. _Does that mean she picked me for that reason?_ He shook his head. _No… Coincidence… They needed a Grey Warden, not my blood…_

Still, he felt a headache creeping in and he leaned over, elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t care… I really don’t...” he muttered while tiredly rubbing his face. He took in a deep breath, suddenly seeing Everil's smiling face and hearing the sweet memory of her laughter. “Maker... I don’t want to lose her…”

If only there was something else they could do to make sure no one died. If only there was a miracle somewhere out there that could solve their problem without having to resort to someone like her.

“Your Majesty,” he heard his guard call.

“Yes…” he answered while bringing his hands down, looking at the door. 

The guard spoke through the burlap. “Lady Everil seeks to speak with you.”

“Hold on…” Alistair pushed himself to his feet, then adjusted his white tunic while walking to the door. He opened the flap to find her and her mabari standing behind it, his stare promptly landing on hers. 

The tortured look she was giving him made his heart twist with remorse. He’d left her in the woods with Morrigan instead of waiting for her. Too focused on his own emotions and on his need to flee from the deeply uncomfortable conversation. Who knew what she was thinking right now? Who knew what she was feeling? 

His earlier annoyance dissipated as he extended an arm to her. “Come in...”

With a silent nod, Everil trudged inside, his hand on her back as he led her in. Bjorn followed her closely, no doubt sensing her distress. 

Alistair turned his attention to the royal guard. “You can go for the night.” 

“But…” The boyish man gave him a worried look. “Arl Eamon said to guard your tent, sire.”

“I know he did…” He let out a puff of air, then stepped up to him, gripping his shoulder. “Look, I understand you’re just doing your job. But do you know who it was that just walked into my tent? To me… that is.”

The soldier fidgeted uncomfortably. “She’s your betrothed, no?”

“Right.” Alistair gave him a lopsided smile. “And I would _really_ like to speak with her alone. In private. On the last night before the battle. Without prying ears to listen in on us... If you know what I mean.”

“Ah… I understand.” The man cleared his throat. “But what if the arl asks me why I'm not at my post?”

“Then just tell him the king gave you orders to go get some rest. That way he'll come yell at me instead,” he answered with a grin, then motioned with his head to the campsites further down the hill. “Now, go. Get out of here. Spend some time with your friends or something.”

“Very well…” He nodded before bowing to him. “Good night, sire.”

“Good night.” 

The guard strolled off and Alistair’s smile slowly faded before he went back into the tent. Everil was sitting at the edge of the bed, hands on her lap, having taken off her gloves while waiting patiently for him. And she didn’t have to speak for him to know what she was going to say. “I won't do it,” he said vehemently, then headed for the chair across from her.

“Alistair…” Her troubled gaze trailed him as he took a seat.

“And I can't believe you’re still thinking about accepting her offer,” he added, once again resting elbows on his knees.

“It is the only choice we have...” she insisted weakly.

“Maker, how I hate that word…” Alistair ran a hand down his face, worn out and irritated by how helpless he felt. 

Choices. It always came down to damn choices. He would never regret becoming a Grey Warden, but ever since everything began it had come down to kill or be killed. To live or die. He almost felt as if both of them were cursed with more than the taint. Cursed to always lose in order to keep what they'd already gained. To risk giving up their own happiness, their relationship or some other aspect of their lives just to do what was right for others.

Doing nothing would mean he'd likely lose the woman he loved tomorrow. Or he could lose his own life and leave the throne empty, while also leaving her alone without him. And if he were to follow through with Morrigan’s plan, he’d be sacrificing his own conscience and his own principles. Which he'd done for Everil once before, but not by producing a child with a woman he couldn’t stand while also possibly putting at risk his lands, his future rule, or that of their children if they were to conceive.

Still silent, his gaze went up to Everil, observing for a moment the way she nervously fiddled with the ring on her finger, as if she too were searching through her feelings. He’d never seen her agonize like this over anything before. Or doubt herself this much. As if just talking to him about this were worse than facing the Blight itself.

“Hey...” Alistair whispered as he slid off the chair and fell on his knees before her, drawing her attention to him. He clasped her hands between his, stopping her anxious movements as his disconcerted stare met hers. “Why even consider it when it bothers you this much just to discuss it with me?”

“Of course it bothers me… Maker, just thinking about it is killing me...” she admitted, stubbornly gulping down the tears that threatened to spill out of her. “But… But even if it hurts to think of you with her tonight, it hurts far worse to imagine myself without you for the rest of my life.”

He sighed for the hundredth time that night, an overwhelming mix of emotions battling inside him. Indignation and disgust at the task being forced upon him. The fear of losing her. The dismay, anger, and powerlessness at the circumstances. Duty and honor, both calling for him to place everything and everyone else above himself. Then there was the most powerful of all—selfishness. The desire to stay with her, no matter the cost.

And the more he looked into those blue pools. Pleading to him. The more he felt the inner conflict coming to an end. Only, he just didn’t have the strength to win it on his own. Not without her. For if he was to ever be able to live with this choice, then he needed to hear that she would be able to, as well.

“Everil… You know that I trust you. And that I will ultimately do anything you ask of me…” he murmured, his voice quivering. “So if you’re sure… If you’re _absolutely_ sure that this is what you want me to do for you... then… ask me…”

“I…” She wore her lip, the pain twisting her features as she willed herself to not to avert her stare in shame. “I… I want you to lay with… with Morrigan tonight...”

Alistair felt his chest constrict and his lungs stop the moment he heard her command. He took in a long breath, bringing her hands up to press her knuckles to his lips. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, attempting to collect himself and muster the courage he needed to comply. “All right…” he finally whispered against her fingers and then slowly rose to his feet, gently pulling her up with him. He gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt.

“Just please remember…” he murmured into her hair. “I'm doing this for us… Only for us. She means nothing to me.” 

“I know…” she replied, so quietly he barely heard her.

“Promise me…?” He held her a little tighter, squeezing her just as much as she was him. "Please promise me you’ll remember?”

She nodded against his chest, hands gripping his shirt. “I promise...”

“Good…” Alistair reluctantly pulled back and cupped her face. “I love you…”

“I love you too…” she whimpered, and he kissed ever so softly, over and over, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks as her heart broke with each tender caress. For soon those lips and those hands would taste and touch someone else.

And as he prepared himself to leave the tent, with the directions she’d given him, Everil had to use all of her will to let him go.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Firelight filled the cave, showering it with its warmth as Morrigan adjusted the furs she’d laid upon the floor. She stood, walking over to the fire and adding in one more log before blowing on it, temporarily increasing the flame with her magic to keep it burning. She’d added a few herbs to the flames, their floral scent also filling the air, meant to help her with her focus that night.

Hearing footsteps, she looked over her shoulder and stood, turning towards the entrance just as a hooded figure stepped in from the darkness outside. “I see she managed to persuade you,” she said, slightly amused and with a slight smirk over her features. “And you have kept yourself hidden from your subjects on your way here, as well. Very good... We would not want your future wife’s reputation tarnished by this, now would we?”

“Enough, Morrigan…” Alistair reached up and slid the hood off his head, irritated ambers glaring back at her. “Let's just get this over with.”

“Oh? Is that anger I hear?” The witch chuckled lightly, taking a few steps as she approached him, her proximity causing him to tense. “Odd for a man who is about to lay with a beautiful woman on the eve of a great battle. Most warriors would be thrilled beyond belief.”

Her words brought a scowl of distaste to his face. “Everil's waiting for me back at my tent, alone in my bed, feeling and thinking Maker knows what about what's happening between you and me. While I'm here, spending part of what could be our last hours with you instead of her. So yeah… sorry for not being particularly excited about any of this. In fact, you're lucky I don't just turn around and leave right now.”

Morrigan's smile spread as her hand reached up to the scraps covering her. “Come now, Alistair… She may hold your heart…” One side slid off her pale shoulders, then the next, revealing her chest to him. “But you cannot honestly say you would not also enjoy this...” 

He narrowed his stare as it instinctively traced the perfect curve of her breasts, his pulse quickening despite the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Then, standing still, Alistair watched as delicate hands raised to unclasped her pearls and her silver necklace, only to drop them upon the ground. Midnight hair came free from its bun, the soft traces falling like black silk over porcelain skin. 

Unashamed by her nudity, Morrigan stepped closer to him, sensually swaying her hips as her skirt dropped down her legs. She stood before him, a different image from the bitter witch he so disliked. Delicate as a doll, pale as fresh snow in winter, enticing hourglass figure, and bright orbs that seemed to pierce into his soul.

Alistair swallowed, closing his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted to look away. To not like what he was seeing, but his racing pulse betrayed him.

Delicately, Morrigan's arms wrapped around his neck, making his cloak drop from his shoulders as she pressed her breasts against his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but her purple lips silenced him.

Shock fell over him and he gasped, feeling her invade his mouth to explore him without care. And before he knew what he was doing, he was doing the same, his tongue stroking and dancing with hers while his hands slowly came to hold her bare hips. He released a breath through his nose as the heat rose up within him, climbing as the kiss became hungrier, more impatient as he suckled and nibbled upon her lips.

He slid a hand between their bodies, up along her torso to cup her breast. The moment her moan reached his ears, he snapped out of that lustful trance, hands flying to her shoulders to quickly push her away. “I… I can’t do it…” he breathed, deep regret etched over him.

An irritated look crossed her flushed face, but a teasing smirk soon replaced it. “Is that so…?” Her brazen hand found its way to his crotch and pressed against his now prominent erection, making air catch in his throat as he throbbed under her palm.

“Morrigan…” he grunted, making a feeble attempt at glaring at her. 

“Oh, stop wasting time, Alistair…” she chastised, her fingers finding the cord of his breeches. 

Breathing heavily, he witnessed her undress him, feeling powerless to stop her. Everil was the one he wanted to be with. The one he wished to touch and hold until morning. But if there were anything more truthful in his life, it was that fate was a cruel mistress. 

After sliding off the breeches along with his trousers, Morrigan slid her soft hands under his tunic, roaming his chiseled chest, feeling every outline of firm muscle. Her full lips kissed along his jaw as her breath caressed his skin, heavy and warm. Her fingers trailed up to his pecs, then slowly back down to his abs, leaving behind a hot, tingling trail as he stifled a groan. “Still…” He shuddered and absently held her hips. “I might not… be able to...” 

Morrigan sighed in frustration, then leaned back to look at him. “If it helps, then pretend I am she."

Alistair gulped, then closed his eyes as she continued, kissing her way down his stout neck as her hand came down. “Ah…!” He gasped when she gripped him and began to stroke his length, sending electrifying waves flowing through him in streams.

“Hmm…” she hummed, pleased by the discovery of his size, fingers wrapping around his girth as she pumped him. 

A throaty groan escaped him, lust quickly replacing all reason as he heeded her advice, imagining Everil's hand rather than hers as his hips absently bucked with her strokes.

And soon his body wanted more. More.

Suddenly he threw off his tunic, tossing it aside. Then he sought her lips, shocking her as he passionately devoured them. His tongue wrestled with hers, his teeth bit her lip and he suckled on her tongue as she moaned against his mouth. He may have been directing the passion behind that kiss at someone else, but that didn't keep her from throbbing with need for him. To grow moist in waiting, aching for his touch.

Their hot breaths intertwined as he slowly led her to the furs by the fire, just a few steps behind her. Alistair carefully lowered her upon them, her legs spreading open for him as he lay over her, pinning her down. He strayed from her lips, kissing his way to her neck as something hard entered her, making her gasp as he penetrated her moist depths. His girth stretched her as he slid inside, pushing his way in until his length reached deeper than most other men she'd ever had. 

Morrigan moaned, fingernails slightly digging into his back as he thrust, his manhood reaching her top each time as the friction sent jolts up from her core. Oh, but he felt so delicious. So deep and so hard, stroking every corner within her each time he slid against her.

Alistair moaned breathlessly into her ear as her cave dragged along him, gripping him as pleasure sparked within him. His hand went up to her breast, seeking its rosy peak. He pinched and rubbed it between two fingers, earning a loud groan as his hips smacked against hers in steady, hard thrusts.

“Oh, yes…!” she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Oh, just like that…”

He focused on the sensations spreading through him, his deep moans muffled by her neck. But no matter how much he tried to pretend it was his betrothed he was making love to, he couldn’t fool his senses. She didn't smell like her. Didn't feel like her, or sound like her. Imagining Everil was becoming more and more difficult, and instead, he could only think of the sad smile she gave him before he left the tent. 

Alistair leaned upon his forearms, panting for breath as he continued to pump into the witch. He gazed upon Morrigan’s lustful, yellow pools, pleasure painted all over her features. She was beautiful. He'd admit that. Any other man would have been enjoying her body but he just couldn't.

All he wanted was to finish it. To be done with it so he could return to Everil's waiting arms. And he wouldn't be able to with Morrigan's presence all over him. “Turn over,” he commanded, unexpectedly pulling out and off of her, going to his knees.

“What...?” She scowled with a hint of disappointment as her chest heaved.

“On all fours,” he added sharply, the hunger in his eyes mixed with anger. At her and at himself.

With an irritated look, Morrigan did as she was told, rolling over onto her hands and knees with her rump facing him. She felt his sturdy hands take hold of her hips and then a loud moan escaped her when he suddenly entered her, the different position letting his manhood stroke another spot within her.

Gritting his teeth, he plunged into her sex, steady and deep as slapping sounds echoed within the cave every time their hips met.

"Oh, Alistair…!" Morrigan groaned loudly, gasping between moans as his hard rod stroked her loins. It all felt so crude. So sinful and wrong. She may not like him, but she was now lying with a king and an engaged man. And that thought only added to the thrill she felt at the obscene act they were both committing.

Again seeking a quick release, Alistair shut his eyes tightly and imagined Everil’s naked body as he made love to her, remembering every inch of her beautiful curves. He thought of her bouncing breasts and the need in her stare as she rode him. Of the sound of her lustful voice calling his name when he pleasured her. Of the way her sex felt whenever she enveloped him. And he grunted as the memories drove him to thrust faster into her moist tunnel.

“Oh… more, Alistair!” Morrigan cried out as she reached down with one hand between her legs, shaking fingers stroking her sensitive core as the pleasure intensified. “Give me more!”

He huffed as he complied, pounding into her, slapping, wet noises growing louder with each clash of their hips. His thrusts rocked her body forward, making her let out a cry each time as her hand gripped the furs beneath her. She stroked her clit faster, her body tensing as she etched closer to the edge. Then he felt her insides constrict around him, and his fingers dug into her flesh at the pressure quickly building within him. 

“Ah! Keep going! Please don't stop!” Morrigan begged, throwing her head back as she gasped for air, the intense tingling feeling between her legs coiling tightly within her, waiting to snap. Yet despite the ecstasy filling her very being, she could focus through the fog, summoning her magic as their campfire sparked into a flurry of red and black. Crimson streams of light surrounded her, the rays slithering around her like crawling weeds. They laced together with her blood and with her body, reaching into her womb as she willed it to perform its task without fail. The magic then flowed through her walls, enveloping his member in its cool, crackling touch while possessively taking control of the sensitive nerves along his shaft.

“Maker's… breath!” he grunted loudly, the sudden change in temperature and sharply intensifying pleasure sending him careening towards release. He clenched his jaw and came, his seed rushing out of him and pouring inside her as he willed himself to keep going, his orgasm so sharp it was almost painful. 

One, two, three more hard thrusts, and the coil inside her snapped. 

“Oh, Alistair!” Morrigan cried out, throbbing as he continued to pound into her. Her walls gripped him as she greedily took in every drop he offered and then the magic slowly disappeared. The two of them shook and convulsed, the waves thrashing against their bodies while their groans continued to pierce through the silence of the night.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Quiet soon came, the crackling of the coals and the flowing of the lake's waters the only sound they could hear inside the cave. Then there was the shuffling of feet and the rustle of clothes.

Facing away from the fire, Alistair bent over, riddled with guilt and remorse as he tiredly slid on his breeches. Behind him, Morrigan released a soft sigh and lazily rolled onto her side, gaze landing on his broad back as she propped her head on one hand. She stared, unfazed by her own state of undress, admiring the way the light danced over his muscles before taking notice of the slumping of his shoulders. “I must say…” she purred, unconcerned by his shame, a pleased smile on her painted lips. “I can see why she has kept you as her pet… You were much better than I expected.”

“Just make sure you remember to keep your word… I don't want to see you in Ferelden ever again after this is over,” he replied coldly, roughly tying the cord at his waist before retrieving his tunic and sliding it on.

“‘Tis you who should remember, _your Majesty._ ” Her tone was just as frigid as she mocked his title. "You may have fathered the child, but ‘tis mine and mine alone. Do not ever think to seek it out.” 

“Don't worry…” Alistair threw on his cloak, then angrily slid on the hood. “I won't…”

He strode out and Morrigan’s eyes turned to slits as he disappeared into the darkness from whence he came. Then she slowly sat up, placing her hand over her womb, the smile from before dissipating into a wintry expression.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Now, all they had left to do was defeat the Archdemon. A challenging task, all on its own.

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

Alistair crossed the woods on heavy steps, shaking his head in a useless attempt to rid himself of the thoughts that now plagued him. He'd just made the same mistake his father did when he'd cast him out into the world, unwanted and with a mark that followed him everywhere he went. Everyone around that child would reject it or look down on it for being a bastard, and there would be nothing Morrigan could say to make it any easier. 

His hands turned to fists as he paused, suddenly feeling filthy all over. He'd actually done something worse than his father did with him. As far as he knew, at least he hadn't been planned. He'd been an accident Maric wasn't willing to deal with. But instead of casting him into the cold, he had placed him in the care of an arl. In a castle where he lived in luxury and received an education, a warm bed, food, and a bit of love—however temporary it may all have been.

This child of his was, instead, something he was to use and then discard. As if it were rubbish he didn’t want. Tossed into the frigid wilderness with a wandering, bitter witch for a mother who would continue to use it for her own, selfish means. Not to mention, it wouldn’t be normal after the battle. It would change into something else. And he’d never come to know what affects carrying the soul of an Old God could have upon the poor babe.

Guilt gave way to self-loathing and he covered his mouth as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He breathed laboriously as he forced down the vile, anguished eyes upon the ground. _Maker, what have I done…?_

The breeze blew on his cloak as it rustled the brush around him, the sound slightly soothing to his weary mind. He took in a deep, quivering breath, slowly picking himself back up before gazing past the woods at the faint glow of the campfires. He kept walking, faster this time, intent on reaching his tent as soon as possible and leaving this place behind.

He slipped through the back of their camp, expertly avoiding the soldiers for the second time. Any other night he may have sarcastically commented on how safe he truly would be if someone infiltrated the place and tried to kill him. But right now, he was actually grateful for the lack of security as most of the army slept or shared quiet conversations by the fire.

After sneaking past another group of half-asleep guards, Alistair could safely reach his tent with no one noticing him. But instead of running in as he'd initially planned, he found himself stalling before the door. He swallowed, staring at the bright yellow burlap for what felt like hours.

Promise or no... Would she ever look at him the same after what happened? 

Would she ever let him touch her again? 

Taking in a deep breath, he gathered his courage and stepped inside. 

The tent was barely lit by dying candles, but they provided enough light to allow him to see her sleeping on his bed. She was curled into a ball, still clad in all her armor, hugging a pillow to her body. Her hound rested at the foot of the mattress, faithfully guarding her as she slept.

His chest hurt at the sight of her, the guilt weighing heavily upon him. With a furrowed brow, he quietly trudged up to her, sliding off his cloak and carelessly tossing it onto his trunk as he passed it by. He wearily petted the hound, muttering a quiet, heart-felt thank you and receiving a soft whine in response.

Alistair didn't even care that he still had his boots on when he slipped in with her, yearning to hold her like never before. He edged closer, rolling onto his side and moving up behind her. Then he propped himself up on one arm, seeking to look at her sleeping features as he reached down to touch her, stopping midway upon seeing her face.

Tear streaks covered her flushed cheeks, while her pillow remained moist where she’d wept over it. 

He gulped the knot in his throat, then ever so carefully, ran the back of his fingers along the side of her face. 

His soft touch stirred her, and she called softly, “Alistair…?” With a whimper, Everil turned to him, just enough to see his face above hers. For a moment she looked unsure of what she was seeing. As if he were nothing but a ghost. An illusion born out of her own tired brain. 

“Hey…” was his feeble reply, a corner of his lips slightly up. 

Realization dawned on her at the sound of his voice, a mixture of happiness and sorrow crossing her features as a single tear escaped her. Without another word, Everil rolled over and threw her arm around him, burying her face into his shirt. 

Alistair hesitated to touch her, his arm hovering over her. He’d thought she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him. That she would want nothing to do with him. But then quiet sobs came as her shoulders shook, causing him to wince as if he’d been physically hurt. “I’m sorry…" he whispered mournfully as he embraced her, holding her tightly while nuzzling her hair. “I’m so sorry… Please forgive me…” 

“It wasn't your fault…” Everil whimpered through gritted teeth, shaking her head. “I sent you to her… It’s not your fault...”

Anger. 

Anger was all she felt. He had laid with the witch at her own request, and yet she felt utterly miserable. She had wept, waiting for him after struggling with the self-induced images of the two of them tangled between the sheets. And she hated Morrigan for it all. For having kept her secret from them from the very beginning, and for putting her hands on the one she loved.


	19. The Final Battle

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ C _ _ rimson streaks of lightning tore  _ the skies apart as ominous black clouds swirled above, swallowing up the light of day and casting the landscape into near darkness. In the distance, the walls of the royal capital of Ferelden were visible, towering over what lay below as a great number of darkspawn swarmed the now broken gates and walked the battlements. Corpses of the city guards hung at the entrance, torn limb by limb in a macabre display of victory as fires burned within, glowing a hellish red.

It was an omen of what they were about to face, and to some, the beginning of the end.

A gust of wind picked up their banners as men and women of all races stood tall over the hill overlooking the city, with the king’s knights and friends on horseback at the front. Every one of them held their weapons steadfastly, their varying features showing nothing of the fear they felt inside. This would be where they would live or die, in a battle greater than any other they ever faced.

“Men!” Alistair called, the mere sound of his voice commanding them to attention. 

A white horse galloped towards them from the side, armored from head to rump in beautiful gold plates as the king of Ferelden rode in on its back. Bringing the horse to a walk, he traveled along the line of soldiers, regarding each of them as his golden armor glimmered under what little sunlight filtered through the inky clouds. 

“Before you stands the might of the darkspawn horde!” he declared, his youthful features hardened by past battles. “They are relentless and their numbers are great! But though the odds seem to stack against us, know that we have hope to win this war!”

“We have hope because all of us are here, together! Together as a single powerful force! Ready to drive these monsters from our lands!” He veered his horse once more, walking the line, steely ambers gazing over them. “But none of us would be here if it were not for the brave woman who not only united our peoples but has also sworn to protect Ferelden—her home—from all who threaten it!” 

Everil rode her brown, steel armored steed from the side, solemnly galloping towards him as she looked over their army of elves, mages, dwarves, and men. They followed her with their eyes, seeing in her the confidence and pride of a leader as she held her head up high.

“Her name is Everil Cousland!” the king declared firmly, gesturing to her with an open palm. She placed her hand on his and he laced their fingers before raising their joined fists.“Future Queen of Ferelden, General of my armies, and the fearless Grey Warden we are about to follow into this the greatest battle of our lives! It is thanks to her we will be victorious! It is thanks to her that today we will defeat the Blight!” 

“Hooah!” the men cried out with the might of a dragon, thrusting their blades, spears, bows, and staves to the black skies.

Alistair lowered their arms and turned his horse while drawing his sword, facing Denerim’s gates as Everil did the same. 

“Now let’s fight and show the darkspawn what we’re made of!” Alistair lifted his sword high above as he yelled to the men behind him, his horse neighing as if it too was ready. “Let’s fight to avenge my brother’s death! To honor the brave Grey Wardens who died with him!” 

“Hooah!” the soldiers cried out in unison.

“Let’s fight for our families!” Everil’s voice then joined his, her blade up. “Let’s fight for our futures!” 

“Hooah!” They slammed their weapons to their shields.

His horse whined once more, Everil’s following suit as she narrowed her eyes, her grip on the reins tightening. 

“Let’s fight!” Alistair roared again, and he swung at the gates. “For Ferelden!” 

And they kicked their mounts into a run, the soldiers behind them letting out a resounding war cry, matching the clap of thunder above as they all dashed with weapons ready. Everil and Alistair led the charge, the knights, and their party following closely as the army flooded the blighted fields behind them.

Riding her horse at full speed, Everil gazed up as they neared Denerim’s walls, spotting several genlocks aiming arrows at them from the battlements. She drew her bow and arrow, quickly aiming from her galloping steed. One after the other, she fired as the elves at the back and Leliana did the same, hitting their mark. Most creatures plummeted to the ground, while others shot at them, hitting a few of their men and missing others.

She quickly put away her bow and drew Elethea just as they clashed with the darkspawn guarding the gates. Their wails drowned her cries as she cut them down, swinging as they tried to dismount her. Alistair did the same, decapitating a hurlock and then slashing the throats and faces of several more. The knights made quick work of the rest, spearing through them or cutting off their heads as the creatures struggled to reach them on their steeds.

They fought their way into the city’s first district, where darkspawn poured out in numbers from every corner, charging at them with murderous intent. Everil halted her horse, taking out more enemies while Alistair went past her, slicing through and stabbing any trying to attack him. 

“Take back this district!” she commanded the knights and those still running in. “Kill any darkspawn you see and block the gates!”

And the knights and soldiers did as they were told. One after the other, they engaged the enemy, weapons, and shields clashing as the blood of both friendlies and foes rained over the ground. 

Everil hopped off her horse, drawing her dagger and slashing at an incoming genlock, dispatching it. She whirled around and struck down another, slitting its throat open as it screeched. She took a few steady steps to a group rushing at her, then she ducked, dodging a hurlock’s axe before swinging and slashing its middle. She blocked a blade with her dagger and stabbed the next up the jaw and through its head, its black blood spraying over her. She kicked a genlock as it tried to attack her, staggering it before yanking her sword from its friend’s head to slash at its chest. 

A series of roars broke through the sound of battle as three ogres rampaged towards them, stomping through several soldiers in their wake. One of them swiped up a man, biting off his head as his comrades backed away in terror.

Everil clicked her tongue and ran at the closest one. “Sten, Oghren, Shale!”

“Right behind you, Warden!” Oghren called as they followed her.

“Take the legs!” she shouted. 

Sten swung his massive sword, cutting into the side of its knee, while Oghren and Shale struck at the other knee. The ogre roared in pain as they hit its legs again, forcing them to buckle. Everil lept, stabbing at its gut before climbing her way up to its chest and burying her sword into its heart. It fell with her on top and she rolled off onto her feet, panting as she dashed to the next.

Several soldiers fell another ogre while Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan engaged the third. The witch cast a sweeping ice spell, freezing its legs. Zevran tried to climb onto it, only for it to grab him as he let out a grunt. Leliana fired an arrow, piercing the ogre’s neck as it tried to bite the elf’s head off. Everil rushed in, flinging her dagger at the monster’s head, piercing the side of its face and making it to let go of him. 

“Morrigan!” Everil called, glaring at the witch. “Stay out of this!”

“‘Tis too late for that, Warden!” she said with a snicker before raising her hand and closing it into a fist. The ice closed in on the creature’s legs, breaking them and forcing it to its knees. 

Zevran took the kill, jumping onto it and driving his daggers into its throat.

With a grunt, Alistair blocked a hit with his shield and stabbed through the same hurlock’s chest. He used his foot to shove it off his sword before whirling around and slashing through several more.

Another resounding roar shook the very ground they stood on, drowning all the screams, cries, and the clashing of weapons as an evil shadow flew over the battlefield, dominating everything. It plunged them into darkness, its shape blocking the flashing of lightning coming from the skies as the rumbling thunder accompanied its cries. 

Everil struck down another hurlock, then looked up to see the nightmarish beast they sought to slay. The archdemon. It flapped massive black wings, soaring to the center of the city while spitting fire in its wake. “There it is…” she breathed with narrowed eyes, hearing the sinister voices in her head as it beckoned the taint in their blood. 

Everyone around her also gazed up, terror over their faces as they watched it fly.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The first district was in ruins, a vision from damnation itself. The stench of blood and sulfur saturated every breath as fires burned all around, while buildings lay in shambles, the gore of those the darkspawn vanquished smearing everything in red. The soldiers who perished in the first push to take back the city lay along with those of the enemy, their blood seeping into the dirt and stone. Some men helped the injured as they took them to the mages for healing, while the rest of the forces stood by, awaiting further instructions. 

“We lost a few men, but not as many as we expected,” Ser Donall reported to Alistair and Everil.

“And the gates?” Alistair asked as he folded his arms, covered in dried blood and dirt, just as the rest of them.

“All blocked, your Majesty. But I'm afraid they won't hold for long. We must move in and take back the rest of the city soon.” 

Alistair glanced at Everil. “Then we have to hurry…”

Ser Donall also turned to her. “I shall call upon the detachments now, my lady.” 

She nodded. “Do it. Have them gather by the north gate. We'll meet them there.”

“Understood, my lady.” He bowed with both fists to his chest and hurried away to fulfill his tasks.

“Good work there, pretty boy,” Oghren teased as their party neared the pair, grinning wide. “You almost look like you know what you’re doing!”

“Heh, thanks.” Alistair put on a sarcastic smile of his own. “That's what I'm going for, actually...”

“So what now?” Oghren smirked wickedly, a glint in his eye. “Should we go kick some dragon arse?” 

Everil folded her arms. “That's the plan. But before we go charging into the archdemon’s lair… There’s something I want to say to all of you.”

Oghren quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not about to get sentimental on us, are ye?”

“Perhaps I am…” Everil let a slight smile tug at the edges of her lips, looking at each of them as they waited for her to speak. These people had been more than just traveling companions. They were friends. They suffered and saw the same hardships they did, lived through the same struggles they did. Fought beside them without question, helping them every step of the way while also risking it all for their cause. Without them, she and Alistair just wouldn’t have made it this far.

Her stare landed on Morrigan and she struggled to keep the resentment from showing on her face. The witch stared back at her, arms folded, before looking away with apparent disinterest. Releasing a soft sigh, Everil shoved aside the feelings of anger and betrayal, and instead regarded the rest of the party. “Thank you,” she spoke firmly, dipping her head. “Thank you all for helping us through all this. No matter what happens when we go into those darkspawn infested streets, or when we finally face the dragon… Please know that fighting alongside you has been a privilege and an honor.”

Leliana grinned sweetly at her. “The honor was mine, Evy. You will always be a valued friend to me.”

“It has been a pleasure, all of you,” Wynne said to them, placing a hand on Leliana’s shoulder. “I have learned and experienced so much while traveling beside you. I swear that this old woman will not forget any of you.”

“You did well, Kadan,” Sten said, arms folded as he gazed down at the Grey Warden. “You far exceeded my expectations.”

Everil chuckled. “Glad to hear it, Sten.”

“I concur with our qunari friend,” said Shale, a stiff smile on her face. “I admit it was quite an exciting journey and you definitely did a better job than I anticipated. Just make sure not to get eaten by the dragon. Fate would dictate that it would fly over me and poop it upon my person.”

“Yes. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Everil replied with a grin as a few in the group chuckled at the golem’s jest.

The golem nodded. “Definitely not.” 

Zevran cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Well… It would seem that after the battle you may not have much use for me.” 

“Actually…” Alistair walked up to him, patting him on the shoulder. “We could use someone who knows how assassins work to watch our backs. You know how it is in all this political nonsense.”

The elf gestured to Everil. “Do you really think you’ll need me when you have her?”

Alistair chortled and crossed his arms. “Now, that is a fair point. But the offer stands.” 

“You can do whatever you wish, Zevran,” Everil added with a friendly smile. “You have always had your freedom. If you wish to stay with us, we would appreciate your service.”

“I suppose it is true I followed you willingly… and you really only needed me for this.” Zevran tapped a finger to his angular chin, then he bowed with a hand to his chest. “Thank you both for the offer, but I will have my adventures elsewhere, for now.”

“Bah… You lot are gonna make me tear up,” Oghren grunted, waving them off. 

Everil chuckled at the dwarf. “What about you, Oghren? Any final words?”

“Yeah…” He grinned, then lightly punched her in the arm. “It's been a damn good ride, Warden. Thanks to you I can be a proud warrior again after that Branka fiasco had me in the gutters... Now let's go put an end to that sodded overgrown lizard before it flies off!”

Bjorn barked in agreement beside her, wagging his stubby tail.

“Right,” Everil nodded, her expression hardened. “Head to the north gates. It’s time to go dragon hunting.” 

“Let’s do this!” Oghren let out a howl of excitement as he hurried ahead of the rest of the party, with Zevran trailing him and the others going after them. The soldiers in the area gathered around to see them off, all cheering as the dwarf answered by pumping a fist in the air.

The Warden shook her head helplessly at him, then made to join them when Alistair took her hand. “Wait…”

Puzzled, she turned to face him. “Wha—?”

He pulled her to him and claimed her lips with his, ignoring the prying stares of his men. And he kissed her, slowly, passionately, hands flat over the small of her back as her arms wrapped numbly about his neck. Their tongues waltzed as the world seemed to temporarily fade around them, leaving them alone in their own private sanctuary. 

No battlefield. No death. No soldiers. Only them. 

And she almost felt like crying after having endured the pain of sharing him with another. He was hers again. And no one or anything would ever get in their way.

Reluctantly, Alistair pulled back from their kiss, breathing a little harder than before as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Let's make sure we both make it out alive...” he whispered, a corner of his lips going up as he stared into her eyes.

“Right…” Everil had a slight smile as she caressed his cheek.

They all made their way to the gates, walking through the soldiers as they hollered at them.

“Kill those bastards!” some called.

“Death to the darkspawn!” others yelled.

"Hail the Grey Wardens!” more shouted.

Hearing their calls, Everil walked with her head held high, determined eyes trained on the doors before them as she led her entire party to battle. They were close to ending this war. Close to saving their country from monsters that would ultimately devour them if they failed. And they would win. No matter the cost.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Fires burned what was once Denerim's market, the flames spreading through the old, wooden homes around the square and burning the small shops and merchant stalls that once stood at every corner. Dead bodies of both city guards and residents lay scattered in pieces, left to bleed onto the streets, their murderers growling in pleasure as they tore their corpses apart. 

Gone were the cheerful calls of the shop owners selling their wares. Silenced was the laughter of children running by as they played. They could hear only the screams of those left throughout the city along with the dragon's distant cries.

On fearless steps, Everil crossed the gates to the now hellish place, passing blazes raging at each side of the road, her attention on the enemies on their path as their tainted voices filled her mind. She drew her sword, the sound making the darkspawn rise from above their kills to growl at her. Her party and four groups of mages, elves, humans, and dwarves followed her, marching into the monster-infested market. 

The creatures snarled at them, preparing their weapons as they gathered together, pouring out from every alley and blocking their path.

Everil raised her blade and aimed it at them. “Kill them all!” 

And she charged, releasing a resounding battle cry as her companions went with her, the men running behind them with a roar of their own. Weapons clashed once more as they engaged the mass of genlocks and hurlocks.

“Die!” The Warden parried off a hurlock's sword, then lunged with her blade, piercing through its gut. She kicked it off her, quickly engaging the next enemy as they came. Her blade sliced a hurlock's throat, her dagger slashed another, then she deflected a sword and stabbed through one's face.

The touch of magic spread through the air as the mages cast their spells, ice, fire, and lightning cutting through the sizable group of monsters. Ice encrusted a handful as dwarves and humans cut them down. Fire surged through more, searing their bodies while more soldiers put them out of their misery. Bolts of crackling electricity shot out in a line, cooking the brains of several enemies in their path.

Alistair swung his shield, hitting a hurlock's head before stabbing it through the chest. He blocked as an axe came at him and thrust through his attacker's neck. Behind him, Sten and Zevran took on a group of monsters that erupted from torn down shops, quickly dispatching them.

In moments, they cleared through the market and tore down a blockade the darkspawn created on an alley to proceed to the next area. Everil continued to lead, guiding them through the streets as they fought their way to their goal. Several men perished along the way, but far more darkspawn corpses were left behind over pools of their own black blood.

They advanced through another set of double gates and hurried across a bridge over the city's canal, seeing the waters tainted red as bodies floated downstream. They headed deeper in, following the back roads to the tower as the rest of the army fought the bulk of the horde in the major areas. Yet although they faced smaller forces, resistance was still persistent.

Everil locked blades with another hurlock, gritting her teeth as it shoved against her. She whirled on one foot, breaking the stalemate and making it lose balance before slashing open its throat. “We're getting closer!” she yelled to her men. “Don't let up! Keep fighting!”

And a roar made the ground tremor when the archdemon dove off its perch and descended from above. Its wings spread, again shrouding the battlefield in darkness as it flew straight to the Grey Wardens who dared challenge it. Everil looked up, eyes wide, seeing its mouth light up and realizing what was to come. 

It drew in a deep breath, its throat glowing purple.

“Dragon's breath!” she alerted and ran, dashing out of its way.

The beast fired a stream of blazing flames that scorched everything in their wake. Violent heat rained upon them, the blaze charring a path of ashes and death, incinerating both darkspawn and friendlies on the spot. Flames remained over black dirt as the dragon moved on, flying over them like a giant bird of prey. 

Coughing, Everil pushed herself off the ground, the smell of sulfur sharp inside her nose. “Damn it…” she bit out, wiping her chin and glaring up at the beast as it began its descent once more. 

It cried again, rattling her very being as the voices pierced her brain. She stood slowly, hardened stare set on it as its throat once again lit up. Everil gazed around at her party and at her men, seeing them just rising, coughing and in a daze, unprepared to avoid the next attack. 

_ Damn it!  _ She sheathed her blades and prepared her bow, taking a brave step towards the approaching dragon as anger and frustration boiled inside her. “Come down and fight, you son of a bitch!”

But then a shape on top of the burning structures drew her attention as Riordan, now clad in his Grey Warden armor, ran over the rooftops, jumping from building to building as an expert rogue would. He looked at the dragon as it went lower, its attention focused on her instead of on the Warden following it from the side. And he jumped, soaring in the air and landing atop it, burying one of his daggers into its back. He let out a cry and stabbed it with his other blade, causing the beast to screech as it bled. 

Everil stared as the archdemon veered out of its previous path, sparing them from another attack as it tried to rid itself of the Grey Warden on its back. Her heart was at her throat as her eyes tailed it, seeing it fly higher as Leliana, Alistair, and Zevran walked up to stand behind her. 

“You die today!” Riordan yelled as he yanked his weapon, then stabbed it again, making his way up to its neck while struggling to keep himself from falling off. The dragon growled, flapping its wings to soar higher as it approached Fort Drakon’s towering spire. It then narrowed its crimson glare when it neared one of the tower’s stone walls, rolling its body sideways as it flew at it. 

The stares of those on the ground turned to horror.

“Riordan!” Everil cried out, running a few steps, but she and the others could only watch.

The Warden hit the wall, his dagger dislodging from the dragon’s back. Hurt and shaken, he frantically swung his arms, scrambling to stab the creature as he fell and piercing one of its wings instead. The blade slid easily through the thin skin, slicing it like paper as the Grey Warden continued to fall. Then, there was nothing to hold him up. Nothing for him to grab onto. And no one to take his hand.

Riordan dropped, further and further, helplessly watching the dragon crash onto the side of the tower, growing more and more distant.

With a clenched jaw, Everil turned away just as his body hit the ground.

“No…” Alistair breathed out, tightening the grip on his weapon. They hadn’t known the man for very long, but he’d been willing to die for all of them as Duncan would have done. He gritted his teeth in anger, glaring up at the tower.

“It’s climbing to the top!” Leliana yelled as she pointed, the others watching with her as it used its claws to anchor onto the walls. It roared as it made its way up to the ledge, its wing dripping with blood.

“It can’t fly anymore…” Everil said as it disappeared from their sight over the tower. “We can climb up after it and finish it off!” 

They nodded to her and she turned to the men standing by. “You will all follow us! Chances are, the dragon will call on more darkspawn when it finds itself pinned down, we'll need your help when that happens.”

“Yes, my lady!” some shouted, hitting their arms to their chest. 

“Come on!” Everil said, drawing her blade and raising it above her head. “A Grey Warden sacrificed himself to give us this chance! Let’s make it count!”

“Right behind you!” Alistair called. 

Oghren cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get this shit done!” 

Everil ran with her party and their allies as they crossed the last of the stretch to Fort Drakon.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

They stormed the tower, where darkspawn crowded the massive first-floor halls. Torches lit the gruesome scene surrounding them as they fought, blades clashing with the enemy's while their shadows shifted with every flame’s flicker. Stone walls were painted red with blood from the prison guards, their body parts scattered all around. 

Everil stabbed a hurlock, then ducked and slashed upwards through another’s side. Beside her and behind her, Zevran, Alistair, Leliana, Oghren, and Sten battled through more enemies as they crossed the great hallway before them, heading for the stairs. 

“Climb!” she called over the sounds of battle resonating in the wide space. They ran, leaving any stragglers behind as they moved to the second of the tower’s many floors. Another wave of darkspawn met them at the next level, the corridors filled with them. Like a hive of loyal pawns, they relentlessly protected their queen, throwing their lives away as the two Grey Wardens and their allies broke through their numbers.

Sten cried out and swung, killing several at once. While Oghren brought his axe around, partially decapitating two genlocks. Shale pummeled through a small group, smashing them to paste as Leliana and Zevran were behind her, each one killing more. While Bjorn followed his mistress, mowing down enemies along the way.

As they climbed another set of stairs, more of them poured down the steps towards them. Everil looked up past the rail, seeing them charging with weapons raised. She backed up, extending an arm to halt her companions as they stood a few steps below. 

“Morrigan!” she called.

The witch’s attention went up to her. 

“Burn them to ashes!”

She smirked. “With pleasure...” 

Morrigan stepped up to stand beside her and brought forth her staff, summoning a spell before unleashing a wave of flames that flowed upwards through the wide arch of the spiraling stairs. The cries pierced their ears as the monsters burned alive, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air. 

In minutes, it was over, and the mage stood still, lowering her staff.

“Thanks. Excellent work,” Everil praised, half-smiling as she lightly patted the mage’s shoulder. 

Morrigan sent her with a subtle frown, watching her resume the climb, unfazed by the burning ashes scattering around her. 

Tired, but determined, the group made it the rest of the way to the top, emerging in a wide chamber lined with old armor and old dragon statues. Two great iron doors stood at the other side, flashing purple each time the wounded and enraged archdemon used its breath. The roars pierced the walls, making them shake all around them and rocking them to the core. Massive stomping and screeching rattled the place, along with more growls as the dragon clawed the stone in a violent rage.

Breathing heavily from all the fighting, Everil took a confident step, pulse racing and heart beating wildly as she stared intently at those doors. And then fear crept up in her when the dragon struck the metal, leaving three thin strips along its surface before releasing another breath of flames that illuminated the entire room. 

_ No fear…  _ she told herself, jaw set in pure determination.  _ This ends now… _

“This is it…” Everil uttered, addressing her party as the soldiers gathered at their rear. 

Oghren snickered. “Finally… This is where the fun starts…”

“There is something I have to do first, however...” Everil drew in a deep breath, summoning all her courage for the fight and for her next task. She couldn’t go to the end yet. Not without first tightening some loose ends.

“Morrigan…” she called softly, shifting her gaze to the mage, her expression neutral. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Morrigan seemed a little surprised by her request but eventually nodded. 

“Everil…” Alistair breathed from behind her, reaching out to her only to stop halfway when she raised a hand to silence him.

The two women stepped to the far side of the room, away from earshot as the dragon’s thrashing also helped muffle their voices.

“I do not wish to speak about what happened,” Morrigan began coolly, folding her arms.

“I know… And trust me, neither do I.” Everil’s tone lacked the warmth she used to have for her. “But this is important…”

“Very well...” Morrigan sighed, rolling her eyes. “What is it?”

A pair of arms wrapped over her shoulders, stunning Morrigan into silence as she stood frozen in place. And despite the intrusion, she didn't withdraw from her. Couldn’t pull away from her. Instead, she gulped and awkwardly wrapped hers around her waist. 

“I'm going to be the one to slay the dragon...” Everil whispered by her ear, trying her best to keep the bitterness from her voice. “If your ritual doesn’t work and I die… I want you to know that although I cannot find it in myself to forgive you right now, I bear you and that child no ill will.”

To Morrigan’s shock, her heart twisted with guilt at her words, and her brow knitted as she stiffly answered, “It will work...”

“Heh…” Everil pulled back, then gave her a half-hearted smile that made her chest ache even more. “We both know there is no such thing as certainty. Even you cannot wield that kind of power, Witch of the Wilds.”

Lips pressed into a line, the witch watched mutely as the Grey Warden spun about and returned to the center of the room. Alistair and the rest of the party waited for her, sending them a mixture of puzzled and wary stares as their leader came to stand with them. Sighing softly, Morrigan sauntered to them, joining the group while frowning at the Warden’s back.

“All right, men! ” Despite the beast’s screeches outside, Everil’s steely voice filled the chamber, commanding everyone’s attention. “Focus your energy on weakening the bastard! Give it all you’ve got! And remember that today we all fought bravely for something greater than ourselves!”

“Hooah!” warriors, archers, and mages raised their weapons, tired and bruised, but with fire in their eyes.

“Follow me!” She drew her sword and turned to them, raising it high. “Follow me to victory!”

And they did, charging through the hall and storming out the gates as their thundering steps challenged the beast’s roar. 

The archdemon whirled its massive size around to zero in on the Grey Wardens, pupils turning into slits as they came to it without hesitation. Fighters went with them, while archers and mages kept their distance by the doors and around the tower’s rooftop, attacking from a distance. They swarmed it, slashing at the tough scales over its legs, barely cutting it as it focused on the Wardens.

The dragon opened its jaws and snapped them, trying to bite Everil as she rolled, dodging its teeth. She cried out, bringing her sword to slash at it, scratching the side of its face. With a vicious snarl, it lifted its head then snapped again, this time narrowly missing her. It growled, frustrated by the woman’s swift movements, then swiped down with its horns, forcing her to duck as it took out several soldiers that tried to fight it.

“The thing’s skin is armored!” Oghren yelled as he hacked at it, leaving a gash that did not bleed.

As if on cue, Alistair slashed at its front leg and caught its inner thigh, splitting open its flesh as blood poured from the wound. The archdemon growled deep in its throat and swiped at him with its claws. He rolled, evading them as the razor-sharp talons created deep streaks over the stone. It kept swiping, angered by the fresh injury as it flung soldiers away from it, torn gear pieces and limbs flying.

_ I really hate dragon claws…  _ Alistair got on his feet, then shouted to the others, “Its underbelly is weak! Focus on that but watch for the claws!”

Sensing their plans, the beast got on its hind legs, extended its wings, and released an ear-piercing screech.

The offending noise stunned every man around as they covered their ears, unable to move. The archdemon used its powerful legs and lept back, flapping one wing to land onto an empty platform behind it, out of their reach unless they risked its jaws. Answering its call, darkspawn poured from adjacent doors, letting out cries of their own as they stampeded to them. 

With a roar, Everil slashed at a genlock, then followed through to the next, stabbing another and another. Her hound tackled a hurlock behind her as it tried to attack her, tearing off its throat before dashing to pounce on one coming from the flank.

Leliana huffed as she avoided an axe, before lunging forward, slashing the wielder’s throat. She threw the blade at the next behind it, lodging in its head before pulling out her bow, firing several arrows at multiple foes.

Snarling viciously, the archdemon watched as they slay its underlings one by one, their numbers quickly diminishing as they fell. It growled, the rumble resonating through them as its claws dug into the rock. 

Swinging her sword, Everil took down another hurlock, then looked to the archers on the sidelines.

“Archers!” she cried out, raising her blade.

Elves and humans promptly gathered in a row behind her, each preparing an arrow. 

“Aim for the underbelly! Fire!” she commanded and pointed her blade at the dragon.

Arrows soared over her like a great wave in the ocean, flying onto its neck and chest. It roared in pain and rage, its wings expanding as blood poured out of its wounds. It drew in a breath, its injured throat lighting up, preparing its flames.

“Mages! Cast a wall of ice! Block its dragon breath!” Everil shouted.

All at once, the mages focused and brought up a shield between them and the dragon just as it unleashed its power. They gritted their teeth, grunting with exertion as they kept its blaze from engulfing them. The ice shattered, soaking the ground as the fire burned through it, evaporating all liquid left behind.

Frustrated, the archdemon lept from its perch and slammed down below, great wings sending a gust of wind that swept over them. Soldiers fell and tumbled, all archers flying back while Everil and her party barely held their ground, covering their faces from the ash and dust.

“Now!” Everil cried out as the beast groaned, running to it with Elethea at the ready. “Focus on its legs! Weaken its stance!”

The Wardens and their party closed in on it as the remaining warriors also attacked its limbs. Its blood finally spilled onto the ground as they landed hits at its belly, causing the beast to screech in anger. It violently scratched with its claws, again sending more torn men hurtling away from it, some going over the ledge of the tower and plummeting to their deaths. 

“Keep fighting!” Everil ordered as she slashed at the creature’s chest, drawing another wail from it.

More crimson gushed from the archdemon’s open wounds each time it moved, leaving a trail as it turned and stomped on more men. It continued its struggle, killing several as the corpses littered the battlefield. The dragon roared, its cry shaking the ground. And having had enough, it whirled around, sweeping them with its massive tail. It landed a direct hit, knocking them several feet back, while the brutal gust of wind that followed violently brought their remaining forces to their knees. 

Worn out and injured, the archdemon looked upon the battlefield as smoke escaped its nostrils in heavy huffs. It snarled at its downed enemies while few moved or stirred. Then it stood on its bleeding hind legs and spread its wings, releasing a mighty cry of victory. Lightning cut through the darkness as a deafening clap of thunder joined the archdemon’s roar and rain came pouring over them as if the skies themselves wept over their defeat.

Feeling the drops drumming on her face, Everil winced, lying face down on the ground. She moved an arm and shakily placed a hand on the floor, trying to rise. Searing pain cut through her chest and she groaned miserably. Its tail had cracked her ribs. 

Everil clenched her jaw and pushed herself through the agony, lifting her upper body on trembling arms. Her vision swam while she gazed ahead to the screeching beast as it summoned more of its minions. The remaining human soldiers stumbled and stood between her party and the enemy, weakly locking weapons with the darkspawn while jagged blades ran some through.

Her head craned towards Sten, Oghren, Zevran, and Leliana as they gradually sat up. Alistair steered a scant distance beside her, lying on his chest, his head facing her as blood slid down his right eye from a gash upon his brow. Morrigan and Wynne were casting spells, both visibly worn down and trying to help the wounded soldiers attempting to keep the darkspawn from reaching their king. 

Heaving as desperation settled in, Everil returned an angry stare to the archdemon. And its glare met hers.

_ “Save me...” _

Shock fell over her features upon hearing its weak voice inside her mind, pleading to her. She spun her head to search for her weapons, seeing them gone from her reach. But then her gaze landed on Alistair’s sword as it lay beside him. She went for it with a quivering hand, fingers curling around the hilt.

_ “Awaken me...” _

With great effort, Everil stood, hair sticking to her face and water dripping from her bruised body. She bit back tears as she took an unsteady step forward and grunted in pain, a hand over her injured chest.

_ “Release me from this nightmare…!  _ **_Grey Wardens!_ ** _ ” _

Alistair’s head shot up, the voice screaming in his mind snapping him back into consciousness. His panicked gaze trailed up to her, just in time to see her take another step, wielding his father’s sword. He looked at the dragon, and then back at her, eyes widening as time itself seemed to lag.

What if the ritual doesn’t work?

What if Morrigan is wrong?

Unable to move nor speak, Alistair saw her ready his weapon and heard her release an anguished cry that drew the attention of everyone on the battlefield. Then, to his horror, Everil fearlessly charged, feet pounding on the ground, taking her away from his grasp as she rushed towards the archdemon and to her death.

“Everil, no!” He desperately reached out to her as her form grew smaller and smaller.

Determined and focused, Everil ignored his call and kept running, steely blue orbs set on her target. From the sidelines, Morrigan summoned a stream of flames, burning all the darkspawn in the Warden’s path. And she swung and cut down several more, breaking through the swirling ashes as the witch’s blaze helped clear her way. 

Still standing on its hind legs, the archdemon roared, priming another fire breath deep within its throat. But she was faster, cutting through multiple hurlocks as they tried to protect their master from her wrath. Everil slashed at their middles, cut a head off, then sliced through one’s leg to bring it to its knee, and she climbed onto its shoulder to boost herself up. The Warden jumped, soaring as high as she could, gripping the sword with both hands while releasing another, powerful war cry. 

The blade buried itself in its chest, piercing the dragon’s heart as it spit fire to the black skies. But it wasn’t deep enough and its claw shot forth. It wrapped around her dangling body and her cracked ribs snapped under its viselike grip. She screamed, one of her hands slipping from her weapon. But she held on with the other, coughing up blood and stubbornly gritting her teeth while bringing her arm back up to grip the golden sword’s hilt. And she twisted the blade, driving it further into the beast and unleashing a white, blinding light that enveloped them both.

Everyone left standing covered their eyes as the top of the tower lit up like a beacon, pure white rays shooting up into the black clouds and splitting them apart. The darkspawn cowered under its purity, backing away as they slew their god before their eyes. The brightness was too much, and the taint no longer called to them. Defeated and terrified, they ran, retreating into the tower as they fled. 

Throughout the city, both soldiers and monsters froze mid-battle and gazed upon that beacon. The darkspawn screeched and growled, taking several steps back before turning around and running in horror from the brightness spreading above them. The men could only watch them nearly trample over each other, scrambling to escape through the gates and to the deep from whence they came.

At the tower, Alistair slowly rose to his feet as he and the others struggled to see through it all. The light raged on and a powerful wipnd swirled around both dragon and Warden, surging upwards as purity continued to spread throughout the heavens.

Morrigan placed a hand over her womb, chest growing uncomfortably tight with worry for the woman still attached to the dying beast.

And as soon as the light came, it went, shooting up and releasing a shock wave that rumbled throughout the now normal sky.

A shuddering breath escaped Alistair as he lowered the arm he’d used to shield his sight from that last explosion of light. He blinked a few times, taking a step while frantically searching through the blurry mass a few feet away from them. His vision sharpened and alarmed ambers fell on the dead dragon’s body, before spotting the woman lying beside it with her back to him. With growing panic, he waited expectantly for her to stir. To get up. But she remained motionless as the rain continued to fall over her. 

He took another step, the water pouring on him further weighing his shoulders as he trudged on heavy feet.

The rest of their party looked on from afar, staring with trepidation over their features as he approached Everil's still form. 

Alistair went to his knees, reaching down with shaking hands before ever so gently turning her over onto her back. His chest constricted the moment he saw blood oozing from the corner of her mouth, mixing with the puddle beneath her head. The image of the time in which she lay on her deathbed weeks ago flashed before his eyes and he couldn’t help the sob that escaped him.

“Wake up…” he breathed, gently cradling her into his arm as her head lolled to the side, the raindrops carelessly falling over her face. “Everil… Please wake up…” 

But despite his calls, her eyes wouldn't open.

His heart dropped like led and tears slid down his cheeks as quivering fingers brushed damp locks from her pale face. “Maker, no…” he murmured brokenly as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. “Please, no…” He pressed his cheek to her cool forehead and tightly closed his eyes, more tears rolling out only to disappear in the pouring rain.

“Alis...tair…?”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice and he drew back, gazing over her features. She was looking back at him, tired, injured, and weak, but alive. Maker, she was alive. 

Another tear slid down his face, and he put on a wavering smile. “Hey…”

“Hey…” she whispered hoarsely, and swallowed, shakily reaching up to cup his cheek. “It worked…”

“Y-Yes…” he half-chuckled, half-cried. “Y-Yes, it did… Thank the Maker...” He carefully pulled her into another embrace, nuzzling her brow as he shook, overwhelmed by emotion.

She smiled despite the pain and let him hold her as Wynne hurried to them. White light came once more, this time from the mage as she helped heal the worst of her wounds. The others in their party approached them, all visibly relieved, while Bjorn gently licked his mistress’ cheek. 

Moments passed, then Alistair helped her rise, holding her by waist as her arm came to wrap over his shoulders for support. And when the soldiers saw their savior on her feet, they erupted into cheers, raising their weapons as their cries joined those of the troops on the streets below. Everil smiled weakly at them, still hurting but grateful to be able to witness their victory. Behind them, Morrigan watched the scene from afar, feeling the corners of her lips turn up ever so slightly while standing by the door. But her smile faded when she turned away and disappeared into the shadows. 

Having sensed her stare on them, Everil gazed over her shoulder and her grin also vanished upon finding her gone.


	20. Epilogue

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he frigid rain cleared the next morning _ , giving way to warm sunlight that bathed the battle-scarred city of Denerim. Volunteers from all races helped take the injured soldiers and civilians to the chantry, where mages and the remaining clergy worked together to treat and feed them despite their differences. Others picked up the corpses, wrapping them in sheets and laying them in the market’s square in preparation for their funeral ceremony—a grim sight in spite of their victory.

It was midday and Alistair stood beside Eamon and three of his escorts near where the bodies lay, clad in a layered brown gambeson, and with a brown cloak flowing down his back. His arms crossed over his chest as one of his men gave a status report of the cleanup efforts. Taking the details with a heavy heart, he listened to him speak of the many dead and the significant property damage they faced. 

Part of him still wished he hadn’t had to leave Everil’s side as she recovered back at the palace. But although he could have sent someone else to do the work for him, he needed to witness his people’s loss with his own eyes and let them see him outside with them as he worked to bring some normalcy back into their lives. Even if it meant waiting a few more hours to check up on her condition. 

“We should be able to clear this area and begin reconstruction in two days time,” he heard the guard say.

Alistair nodded. “Good. Thank you. Let Ser Donnall know if we need to send more men this way. The city's economy needs to be reinstated so the survivors can recover their livelihoods.” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” The man bowed and left them to continue assisting the others. 

They saw him go and a soft breath escaped him.

“Worried about her?” Eamon muttered beside him, giving him a knowing look. He was no longer wearing his steel armor, replacing it with a brown coat lined in furs.

Alistair let a corner of his lips go up. “Is it that obvious?”

"I'm afraid it is, son." The arl patted his shoulder. “What did your healer say?”

“That one of her ribs punctured a lung during the battle…” he replied uncomfortably. “Which means things could have turned out much worse if it hadn’t been for Wynne.” 

“She will be fine. She defeated an archdemon, which was quite an impressive feat. I’m certain she will be up and moving in no time,” Eamon said with a proud tilt of his chin. The young woman's strength and resilience were above anything he'd seen since his own sister, the late Queen Rowan. 

“Yeah… Wynne said she just needs rest now. And I happen to think she's earned plenty of it.” Alistair moved to walk as both Eamon and his escorts shadowed him, their boots crunching over the splinters and debris still covering the ground. 

“Indeed,” Eamon agreed. 

They headed toward the chantry, located in a corner of the market district. It was largely spared of damage thanks to the templars who protected it, but a few fires had burned part of its gardens outside and broken a few windows. Still, it was a sanctuary the citizens found comforting as they healed. 

Alistair huffed. “I still can’t believe it’s over."

“It’s not truly, your Majesty. The Blight may have ended, but it's just the beginning for you. There is much work ahead.”

“Heh… I guess you’re right...” he said sullenly, observing the dreary scenery along the way. 

The blazes were out, leaving the charred skeletons of the structures they once were, all still oozing strings of smoke. The scent of blood intertwined with the smell of burnt wood, lingering in the air despite the rain washing much of the red away. The rest of the city looked much the same, but rebuilding Denerim was nothing when compared to the rest of Ferelden, especially the southern parts. The recovery of the farmlands, lost livestock, and homesteads would likely take years, and he questioned if it would even be possible to heal the scars within his lifetime. At least he could find comfort in knowing that after a year of struggle after struggle, they had managed to save what remained, no matter how little. 

_ At least she survived… take the wins as they come,  _ he told himself, weariness settling over him.

Some commotion by the gates to the district drew their attention away from the surrounding ruins to several guards ahead. A cloaked man in worn, brown leathers was struggling against them, two guards holding his arms behind his back while a third aimed his weapon at him. 

“Unhand me!” the stranger barked angrily. “I have to speak to the king!” 

“We don't believe your story, fiend!” said the armed guard.

“I swear to you I’m him!” 

“More excitement? And here I thought we were all done with the danger and the violence...” Alistair jested wryly as he and Eamon came near them, interrupting the scuffle. “What’s going on here?”

The armed guard glanced his way. “Stand back, sire. He has a sword.”

“I mean you no harm, your Majesty.” The cloaked man calmed himself the moment he saw him, standing tall and meeting his gaze. “I… I only came to see my sister.” 

Alistair arched an eyebrow. “Your sister?”

“All hogwash, sire.” The guard sent the hooded figure a suspicious scowl. “He claims to be the late Teyrn Cousland’s eldest son, Fergus Cousland.”

“Once again, I’m not lying!” the man protested in exasperation. “Just take me to her and you will see. Please!”

“I think not—” the guard was about to order his imprisonment when Alistair’s hand gripped his sword arm. He froze and his head snapped towards his king’s profile, seeing surprise etched over it. 

“Wait…” Alistair ordered and stepped closer, causing the stranger to stiffen under his stare. He reached for his hood, uncovering his head to see his face. Dirt and grime soiled his rugged features, short, brown hair unkempt, but his face was the same as the one he saw at the tourney all those months ago. The striking resemblance to the deceased teyrn helped confirm it. 

“Maker’s breath…” he breathed, then addressed the guards. “Release him. He speaks the truth.”

“Y-Yes, your Majesty.” The guard lowered his weapon while the others did as they were told. “Our apologies, my lord,” he uttered with a fist to his chest. 

Slightly irritated, Fergus rubbed his sore wrist, where their armored fingers had dug into his skin. “It's... quite all right.”

“I can’t believe you survived!” Alistair exclaimed with a grin. “We thought you died in Ostagar.”

“Have we… met before, your Majesty?” Fergus asked hesitantly, eyebrows knitted in puzzlement. He had found out days ago that a new king ruled over Ferelden, but had never seen him before. He could only recognize who he was by the knights escorting him everywhere he went. Though, now that he was in front of him he could see he looked much like a younger Cailan.

“No, we haven’t met.” Alistair offered him a friendly smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But that’s not important right now. Everil will want to know you’re still alive.” He glanced at Eamon. “Can you please visit the chantry ahead of me? I'll be there shortly.”

“Of course, sire,” Eamon responded with a nod.

“Come on.” Motioning for Fergus to follow, Alistair spun about and went in the direction of his carriage, which waited for him just outside the market. They crossed the distance to it as its white horses stood regally before it, marked by the royal seal on a golden plate over their chests.

“So she really is here…” Fergus sighed in relief as he trekked beside him.

“Yes. She was injured in the battle and is recovering,” Alistair said as one of his men opened the carriage door for them. He reached for the frame and set a foot on the step, glancing at him. “Hopefully she’s awake... She’s been asleep since last night.”

“Was it that bad…?” Fergus wrinkled his forehead worriedly. 

“Nothing that could keep her down…” Alistair replied with a lopsided smirk and climbed in.

A slight chuckle escaped the other man. “Yes… that sounds like her.”

After Fergus boarded the carriage, the king’s escorts mounted their own steeds behind it and the coachman snapped the reins, commanding the horses into motion.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Sighing tiredly, Everil set a cup on her lap, gazing at the blue liquid inside before admiring her surroundings. She was in the king’s bed-chamber, sitting in a grand four-poster bed with a red canopy and drapes while leaning against several pillows Wynne kindly placed behind her back. Bjorn laid near the foot, resting his head on her leg. 

The rest of the room was lavishly decorated, with matching crimson curtains on towering arched windows through which daylight filtered and illuminated everything therein. Two intricately carved wooden chairs sat by one of them, while a robust wardrobe stood in a corner, next to a dresser with a mirror. Priced furs covered the stone floors, while paintings of Fereldan landscapes hung over the walls. 

She pressed a hand to her chest and winced a little. It still ached from the injuries the Archdemon caused and breathing was still a bit difficult, but she felt far better now than she did the day before. It was hard to tell if it was due to the Blight ending or her own exhaustion, but for the first time in what felt like ages, she could sleep without the nightmares. 

Defeating the darkspawn and their tainted god lifted a massive weight from her shoulders, setting her free from the constant dread of death and the fear of losing the country to the monsters and their corruption. Still, there was much to do, and she itched to go outside.

If only a certain old mage would let her leave the room.

Wynne looked her way as if hearing her musings, shaking her head. “All of it, child,” she scolded gently while mashing something over a tray. She was standing by a table a distance away, preparing more of the concoction she was drinking.

“But it tastes awful…” Everil protested pitifully. “And I’m well enough. I don’t understand why you’re not letting me out yet.”

“It's only been hours since I mended your ribs. Your bones are still bruised, and your body is still weak. I may not be as good with herbs as Morrigan was, but I’m certain that elfroot tea will help you recover faster,” Wynne said and sent her a warm smile. “So drink it.”

“Very well...” she sighed, the mention of that name bringing a slight sting to her heart. The witch she once considered a close friend had disappeared from her life as if she were never there, without saying goodbye to anyone.  _ I suppose that means she's keeping her promise… for now... _

A knock made them gaze at the door, Bjorn's ears perking up. It cracked open, and Alistair walked in, smiling in relief upon seeing her awake. “Hey, sleepyhead…”

“Hi...” she greeted with a smile of her own. “How are things outside? Are they as bad as they looked yesterday?”

“More or less…” He shut the door and sauntered up to her. “But we can talk about that later, my love. How are you feeling?”

“I'm all right. Just a little tired.”

Alistair sighed shakily and sat at the edge of the mattress, clasping her hand between both of his. “Maker... when you ran to the dragon… I thought I lost you forever.”

“I'm sorry I worried you…” She put on an apologetic look, watching him bring her fingers up to his lips for a kiss. 

“You’re forgiven…” He smiled lovingly. “Just… no more archdemon slaying, all right?”

“Yes…” she chuckled weakly. “You have my word.”

“Good... Well, I'm glad you're up. There's someone who wants to see you.” He stood and returned to the door as Everil’s curious stare followed him. He opened it, then spoke to someone outside, “You can come in now.”

A man stepped in, his gaze meeting hers from across the wide chamber. Her eyes went wide, and she blinked a few times, her mouth agape and her heart racing as if not quite believing what she was seeing. Bjorn was the first to move, quickly hopping off her bed and speeding towards him with an excited whine. 

“Bjorn!” Fergus laughed, falling on a knee and happily petting the canine as the dog’s stubby tail wagged uncontrollably. “It’s good to see you again, boy!” 

Bjorn barked happily, licking his face.

After scratching behind his ear, he slowly rose and came to her, Alistair walking close behind him as their steps became the only sound in the silence that stretched between them. 

“Little sister…” Fergus finally said in almost a whisper, his lips spreading into a warm, relieved grin. She still looked as beautiful as before, even with that scar, slightly more mature after all she’d gone through. “It’s… been a while.”

“F-Fergus...” she gasped, realizing it wasn’t a dream. She set her cup on the nightstand and reached for him. “Andraste’s mercy, it’s you! It’s really you!”

He sat on the bed and gently embraced her as she gripped handfuls of his cloak. A sob escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him as tears also stung his eyes. “The oh-so-tough sister of mine isn’t about to cry now, is she?”

“Shut up, you oaf…” she whimpered into his chest, holding him tighter. “I thought I lost you too…”

“I know…” He gently stroked her hair. “I’m glad to see you’re all right… I’ve traveled all over Ferelden looking for you.”

Alistair folded his arms as he and Wynne watched the two, a smile on their faces.

“How did you find me?” Everil wiped her tears as her brother withdrew from their hug.

“I heard that the youngest Cousland was the Grey Warden leading the king’s armies against the darkspawn in Denerim. I wasn't far from here… so I came to help. Though, it looks like you already took care of things.” He laughed lightly, gently patting her shoulder before glancing at their new monarch. “I figured His Majesty could tell me where you were, considering you were working with him.”

Everil smiled a little. “Is that all you heard? About the king and me?”

“Yes… I took off as soon as I learned you were here, so I didn’t ask any questions.” Fergus gazed at her, eyebrows pinched. “Is there something else I should know?”

“Well… yes…” Everil quietly said and gestured towards Alistair. “Fergus, this is Alistair. He’s my betrothed.”

He paused. “He’s your what?”

“Her betrothed,” Alistair repeated and came closer, reaching for a handshake. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Uh, yes…! The pleasure is mine,” Fergus said numbly, accepting the greeting while also rising to his feet.

“I imagine the Howes are still occupying your lands, even with Rendon Howe dead,” said the young king, arms crossed once more. “You’ll have them back as soon as we’re done picking up the mess in Denerim.”

“I…” Pain crossed Fergus’s features at the mention of their home and he dipped his head. “Thank you, your Majesty...” 

“Of course.” He gave his arm a warm pat. “Well, now that we’ve been acquainted, Wynne and I should probably leave you two to catch up.”

“Yes,” Wynne replied, picking up her tray. “I have to check on the others, as well.”

As the mage made her way out, Alistair approached Everil and took her hand, bending at the waist to kiss her knuckles. “Rest as much as you need, my dear. I’ll come to see you later.”

Her cheeks tinted pink at the gesture. “All right.”

They watched him head to the door, petting her hound along the way before he and Wynne left them. A brief silence followed and her brother moved to sit on the chair by the bed. “So… the one who refused to wed is now engaged," he jested a bit, kindness in his stare. “He seems to be a good man… How did you meet him?” 

“He’s a Grey Warden like me.” She licked her lips and tugged a strand of hair behind one ear, sharing his hesitation toward discussing the loss of their family. “We went through Ostagar… and everything else together.”

“I see… I wasn’t aware Cailan had a brother in the Grey Wardens.”

“It’s a long story… One he will tell you about one day.” 

A single, dry chuckle escaped him. “To think Duncan would ultimately recruit you into their ranks… I bet he was the one who saved you when our castle fell.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, placing his hand on hers. His gaze fell as he gripped it, fighting the turmoil going on inside him. And he spoke again, his words heavy with grief. “I wish… I wish I would have been there that night… I’m sorry you went through it alone…”

“Me too, Brother…” she murmured guiltily, hanging her head. “I’m sorry I… I couldn’t save Oren and Orianna…” 

“It wasn’t your fault… None of it was…” He gulped down the knot in his throat, shaking his head. “I’m just… glad we have each other again.” 

Everil gripped his fingers just as tightly, deep sadness painting her features. There was no doubt that moving on with their lives would be a difficult task, but at the very least they could now do so together. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The image of a woman wearing an exquisite wedding dress stared back at Everil as she looked at herself in the mirror. It hugged her bare shoulders delicately, the pure white silk embroidered in golden, floral patterns with sparkling pearls. The sleeves hung low, nearly touching the floor while a golden rope wrapped around her narrow waist. 

Behind her, Leliana fixed her brunette locks into an elaborate bun, attaching pearls to the silky strands at odd intervals while exposing her long, slender neck. Despite the servants’ insistence at helping her, the former-nun took over the task, having claimed that only she was qualified for the job.

After the suffering Ferelden endured, the people needed something to lift their spirits, so Eamon arranged for their wedding to take place along with the formal coronation. Only a month had passed since the end of  **t** he Fifth Blight. And after seeing the state of affairs across the land, she too needed something to celebrate as much as everyone else. She was happy to marry the man she loved, however, she was also about to rise to the throne with him. Which meant she would rule an entire country, something that even she wasn’t all too confident about. 

Everil let out a breath as a subtle wave of nausea washed over her.

“Nervous?” Leliana asked quietly, smiling at her through their reflection in the mirror.

She smiled slightly through rose-painted lips. “Yes…”

“You will be just fine…” Leliana assured her with a chuckle. “I am glad things worked out between the two of you.”

“So am I… though I admit I didn’t expect we would end up ruling Ferelden together. Which is what has me the most anxious,” Everil admitted, gazing down at the white roses in her hands.

“You got us through a Blight in one piece. I’m certain you can handle the crown and anything else thrown your way.” 

Sighing softly, Everil faced her, and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a hug. “Thank you, Leliana.” 

She hugged her back just as tightly. “You are welcome.” Leliana withdrew, placing her hands on her shoulders as her eyes filled with tears. “You look gorgeous.” 

Everil chuckled. “Aw... don’t cry.”

“I-It’s not only about the wedding…” She licked her lips and swallowed. “I’ll be leaving Ferelden for some time… shortly after.”

A frown creased Everil’s brow. “Where will you be going?”

“Orlais… I have some unfinished business there.” 

The strange shadow that crossed over the redhead’s stare only made Everil’s concern for her increase. She had spoken little about her past to her, so she knew nothing about what drove her to come to Ferelden aside from her love of songs and tales. Orlesian politics were part of their culture, and bards were known to be active pawns in the game. If Leliana was enthralled in them once, then it may explain why she fled.

“Is it dangerous?” Everil asked quietly.

Leliana averted her gaze. “Maybe… But it’s nothing you should be worried about.”

“You’re my friend… Of course, I will worry.” Everil placed a hand on her arm. “Do you need my help?”

“No, silly. You have much on your shoulders right now… with the wedding and Ferelden. I’ll be fine. Perhaps I will visit sometime once I’m finished.” Leliana grinned through tears before reaching up to fix a loose strand of hair. “I promise.”

“All right…” Everil’s brow remained tense as she spun back to the mirror, her assurances doing little to make her feel better. The nun continued her work on her hair, the shadow from before settling over her blue eyes again.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

White roses and flowing white ribbons adorned the chantry as bright light filtered through the newly repaired mosaic windows. The colors from the stained glass lit up the nave, making the golden candlesticks and chandeliers glimmer. A nun played the harp in a corner, filling the grand building with its sweet, heavenly melody.

The doors to the chantry slowly opened as the nobles waiting within directed their full attention to the bride. Her white shoes stepped over the red carpet while everyone inside followed her and Fergus, who carefully led her down the aisle. She walked evenly despite her racing heart, holding her head up with pride. Those gathered around her dipped their heads to her as she passed, a reverence reserved only for their future queen.

A slight smile spread on Everil’s lips when her gaze landed on him, his regal appearance nearly taking her breath away.

Alistair stood expectantly at the end of the aisle, clad in the ceremonial garments of a king. Fine, dark brown leathers hugged his body, trimmed in tan fur as his brown mantle flowed elegantly over his shoulders and down his back. And he stared back at her with a smile of his own, his loving stare only on her. 

When they reached the altar, Fergus bowed to the king and passed her on to him. Alistair gave him a curt nod and gently took her hand in his.

Everil gazed up at him, barely able to hold back tears.

He stared at her for a moment, taking in her beautiful features, his own pulse pounding as his words failed him. “You…” He cleared his throat, a little color on his cheeks as he leaned over to whisper into her ear. “You look beautiful…”

“Thank you…” she murmured, blushing herself. At least she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. 

They stepped before the altar, facing the Revered Mother standing over them before she raised a hand up above them. Her chant flowed to all in the room, speaking what some said to be the words of their Maker. And as she spoke she cast His blessing upon them, uniting them in a bond only death could break.

The old priestess turned to the first of two chantry sisters standing beside her, each holding intricately embroidered, crimson pillows over which the crowns sat. She first reached for the king’s crown, the golden metal shining brightly under the light. “And as the Maker is my witness, I hereby crown ye King—” She lowered the crown upon his head, then reached for the thin golden tiara, gently setting it over hers. “—and Queen of Ferelden. To rule over these blessed lands with virtue and righteousness.”

With a smile, the Revered Mother clasped her hands over her skirts. “You may now rise and seal this oath with a kiss.”

They turned to face each other, Everil’s gaze meeting his as her heart fluttered in her chest, a happiness she never felt before overtaking her. He smiled tenderly at her, taking her hand. And then her eyes slid shut as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. 

All in the room cheered, clapping with glee as Alistair pulled away and cast his gaze upon them. He offered her his arm, and she placed her hand on it before he led her down the aisle, their subjects bowing to them as they went. Knights opened the doors for them and they walked out, boarding an open carriage with white horses and adorned with more flowers.

The people gathered throughout the city brightened Denerim’s damaged streets with their joy as they watched them pass. Some waved their hands excitedly, while others tossed flower petals over the carriage as their saviors and new monarchs traveled through. The king and queen waved at them with gentle smiles, listening to their gleeful claps and cheers.

Seeing the hope on the faces of their people reminded Alistair just how much was riding on his shoulders now. Yet, when he looked at her and saw that beautiful smile she sent everyone, he found the weight much easier to carry. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Just hours into their wedding banquet and Alistair could probably claim to have met every single noble in Ferelden. Only he couldn’t remember half their names, which added to his present anxiety. He sighed inwardly, arms crossing as he feebly attempted to grasp every detail of his ongoing conversation with the elderly couple before him. Eamon stood next to him, obviously more accustomed to the formalities than he.

They’d separated Everil from him somehow, whisked away from his side by some ladies who were once her late mother’s acquaintances. 

Past the old nobleman’s shoulder, he could see a few of their friends scattered throughout the grand ballroom, each enjoying food and drinking wine passed around by the servants. Zevran leaned against a pillar, well dressed in a blue silk tunic and black breeches while flirting openly with some of the younger women. While Oghren laughed loudly in his shining steel armor, talking with a prestigious dwarven merchant with ties to Orzammar. A distance away, Leliana was chatting with some other ladies, dressed in her lilac dress, apparently showing them her blue shoes. 

Alistair searched for his new wife, his eyebrows knitting when he couldn’t find her. 

“What say you, your Majesty?”

“Huh?” His head snapped in the old man’s direction, brows shooting up. “About wha—!”

A hard pat on the back cut him off and Eamon withdrew his arm, chuckling to hide his irritation. “I must apologize. As you can imagine, His Majesty has much in his mind due to the country’s present condition.”

“It’s understandable. I suppose there is not much we can do to improve the state of my trade until the southern lands have recovered.” The lord sighed worriedly, clasping his hands behind his back. He was a balding man, well into his sixties, with a tan tunic and brown trousers. 

“Now, darling. We’re celebrating the king’s wedding. This can wait,” the man’s wife scolded gently. Her snow-white hair was up in an elaborate braid, her ruby red gown touching the ground. She turned warm brown eyes to him. “Our apologies, sire.”

“Uhm... No, uh… It’s fine,” Alistair stammered, attempting to regain his composure. He cleared his throat. “I uh… I understand you’re losing coin at the moment, but we'll need your help a little longer. Your lands are helping feed the refugees until they can move back to their homes and work the farms again. After that happens, I’ll arrange for the Bannorn to give your goods priority in trade negotiations and temporarily halt your taxes to repay your generosity during these arduous times.”

Eamon nodded proudly beside him.

“That is most generous…” The lord dipped his head respectfully. “Thank you, your Majesty.” 

An elven servant hurrying towards them drew their attention. She went straight to Alistair, bowing to him. “your Majesty, the queen sends for you.”

He blinked. “Where is she?”

The girl warily glanced at his company, hesitating. “I’m afraid she only asked me to fetch you, sire. She has something important to tell you in private.”

Still not understanding what was happening, Alistair turned to Eamon and the two guests. “Excuse me for a moment while I tend to my wife.”

Eamon nodded, smiling knowingly. “Go on, your Majesty.” 

The elf spun about, moving to the nearest door as he followed her.

“I wonder what happened...” said the old woman, placing a hand on her chest.

“Oh, I think I have an idea…” Her husband snickered, chuckling in amusement. “Young love is all.”

Now a little concerned, Alistair followed the maid as their steps echoed in the mostly empty hallways leading to the gardens. The elf had said nothing else, only walked with purpose to their destination. It was unlike Everil to just disappear from a formal social gathering without telling him, especially during their wedding day. Whatever made her walk off must have been important, and that she sent someone else to get him made it even more worrisome. 

They soon reached a set of double doors and the maid quietly knocked. He heard footsteps approaching from within, then one of them opened, revealing a smiling Wynne. “There you are,” she said calmly, gazing up at him before addressing the elf. “Thank you for going to get him, dear.”

“Of course,” the elf bent at the waist again. “I hope Her Majesty feels better soon. Please call for us if anything else is needed.”

“We will.” Wynne dipped her head, and the elf returned the way they came.

“‘Feels better?’ What does she mean? Is Everil feeling ill?” Alistair questioned in alarm.

“She’s fine. Just queasy and in need of a little fresh air.” She took a step outside, closing the door. “I gave her some tea to help ease her stomach. I will leave the recipe with the kitchen staff for when it happens again.”

His frown deepened at her casual tone, unsure of what to make of it. “Wait… Why would it happen again?  _ What  _ happened?”

Wynne chuckled and gave him her trademark motherly grin, resting a hand on his arm. “Don't worry, son. She’s not sick. But it is not my place to tell you more. Go talk to her. She wants to see you.”

“Very well…” he sighed, a little relieved by her words. “Thank you, Wynne.”

The mage stepped aside for him, allowing him to enter the room and shutting the door behind him. It was a sitting area that overlooked the gardens, illuminated by a single oil lamp on a small table and by the silver moonlight shining through the balcony to the outside. He found her sitting on one of the ornate chairs as a soft breeze picked up the crimson curtains, gently tousling the stray strands of hair framing her face as her gaze shifted to him.

Everil brought the teacup down from her lips, drawing a deep breath before smiling weakly with flushed cheeks. “Hi dear.”

“My love?” Alistair sauntered towards her, still puzzled by what was happening. He went on a knee before her, taking one of her hands in his. “Are you all right? Wynne said you were feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine… I started feeling nauseated at the banquet, so I came here with Wynne to try and take a breather.” She released another breath, turning guilt-ridden eyes to the garden. “Ugh… We almost didn’t make it in time. I feel terrible for what I did to that poor rose bush.”

“Oh… so that’s what it was.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “Was it the food? Or was it too crowded out there? I can kick everyone out if you need me to.”

She laughed, setting her cup on the tiny table next to her. “You know you can’t do that…”

“Who says?” A playful grin spread over his face. “I’m the king. I can do whatever I want.” 

“Riiight… keep telling yourself that,” Everil chuckled, gently patting his hand. “At any rate… It wasn’t the crowd that made me sick. It was something else.” 

He tilted his head. “What was it?”

There was a brief pause as she smiled lovingly at him, the pink tint on her cheeks turning a shade darker. “Uhm… Wynne found something in me… that you need to know about.”

“Something in you?” he echoed, concern again settling upon his brow. “What could possibly—”

“A child.”

His brows shot up in sheer surprise. “Huh…?”

Everil’s smile broadened as she tenderly cupped his cheek, gazing into his amber pools. “I’m with child, Alistair.”

The words took a moment to sink in as he remained still, wide eyes staring at her in bafflement. Everil waited patiently for him, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. “We?” he finally breathed. “O-Ours?” 

“Yes, darling…” she replied, tears of joy forming over her azure orbs.

“Maker…” Alistair murmured, still unable to believe his ears. He deliberately reached for her stomach, lying his palm over her womb. “I… I thought we…”

A single tear escaped as she chuckled, tilting her head. “I’ve been a Grey Warden for less time than you have... I think perhaps that helped. Or perhaps neither of us was too far gone... We’ve only lived with the taint for a year or so, while other Wardens have endured it for years longer.”

“Perhaps…” Alistair rose to his feet, then gently helped her stand. “But honestly, it doesn’t matter to me how it happened...” he murmured, carefully drawing her into his arms. “I'm just… I’m just so happy it did...”

“So am I…” She pressed her cheek to his sturdy chest, drawing in his scent as he held her tighter. Oh, how she’d ached over the news of their inability to bear children. How she’d craved to have a family with him ever since. And now that the Maker had granted them this miracle, she couldn’t help the tears that kept pouring out of her.

“Everil…” He gently withdrew to gaze at her features, his hazel-browns glimmering under the lamp’s flame as he tenderly caressed her jaw with his thumb. “I love you...”

She leaned into his touch, warmth spreading through her chest. “I love you too...”

And he leaned over to press his lips to hers in soft, feather-like pecks. Her heart soared as she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kisses with a blissful sigh. After all the suffering they endured. After all the death they’d witnessed, and all they’d lost. They could finally live the life they yearned for, however brief it may be. 

  
  
  



End file.
